Seymour of the World
by DaisyDay
Summary: Burn Notice lite. When your client is Seymour, expect entertaining nonsense intermixed with action galore!
1. Chapter 1

(Most characters are part of the Burn Notice universe)

BURN NOTICE

Seymour of the World

Chapter 1

Miami is known as a place for the beautiful and the young at heart. From the world over, sunworshippers come to this tropical paradise to soak in the summer sun.

But today would not be a beach day for Michael, Fi and Sam, although it seemed to have started out that way.

Earlier that morning, Fi was seen wearing a bikini top and sarong as she bustled about the loft.

Michael watched her moving back and forth, organizing things in his now cozy-feeling loft. She looked content as she finished straightening her snow-globes on the shelf.

The best decision Michael had ever made was to ask Fi to move into the loft. It made this place seem like home. Smiling to himself, he went back to concentrating on his papers in the file. He had a lot of reading to catch up on.

Fi peered Michael's way and noticed he had not moved in the slightest from where he sat at the counter. She had already explained to him what needed to be done this morning. Her lips became tight as she continued watching him.

Michael could feel her eyes boring down on him and looked up, "Um...Something on your mind, Fi?"

"Mi-chael!" Fi started, as she impatiently placed her hands on her waist, "Why haven't you changed into your beachwear yet?"

"What do you mean, Fi? Are we _both_ going to the beach?"

"_Mi-chael..._" Fi repeated; this time in_ that_ tone.

Michael started loudly shuffling the file papers, attempting to look busy.

_Teesh. Teesh. Teesh..._

"Uh, Fi, I'm really bogged down with all this reading...Could I just meet up with you later at the beach, please?"

As if that were enough to appease her, he went back to reviewing his reading materials. Wrong. Men are so clueless. Fi came stomping towards him and wordlessly, she reached out and slammed his file shut.

_"Fi!" _

She had his full attention now.

"Michael, I _told_ you, we are going for a meeting this morning...so get up and get dressed in your beach clothes _now!_ Remember, we still have to pick up Sam, too!"

Michael perked up at the possibility of a job. " Oh? A meeting? Is this for a job? So what kind of a meeting would require beach attire?"

Fi rolled her eyes.

"Well, Michael, take a guess. The location site could be: one, at an opera, or two, at a poolside party..."

"We're conducting business at a poolside party?"

Fiona heaved a sigh. _"_I've told you _all_ of this already._ Yes!"_

He gazed at her intently. She looked so appealing sexy in her swimwear. This time, he gave her a flirtatious smile.

Fi knew that look. Why are men so easily distracted by what women wear?

"Fi," added Michael seductively, "we don't have to be there _exactly_ on time, do we?"

Michael's gaze traveled down the length of her swimwear, stopping short to admire her cleavage. Fi's cheeks burned with the heat of modesty as she attempted to adjust her bikini top. He placed his hand over hers to stop the gesture. He got off the stool and stepped closer to her, his hip perilously close to hers. Too close.

"Michael, stop...we don't have time for...anything else. We need to leave in two minutes!"

Michael touched the curve of her jaw, "Two minutes? We're not hard boiled eggs, Fi...let's not rush..."

She liked the soft rumble in his voice. He was not the only one who was easily distracted, especially when he stood so near to her. His tantalizing scent, the masculine spice of his skin was all she was aware of.

Smiling, she willingly floated into his opened embrace and drew a breath.

"I suppose have _some_ time..." she looked seductively into the blues of his eyes as he returned the smile...before she reached up and purposely shoved him away, ...until you compared us to a breakfast food, Michael!"

But Michael was not fooled. He had read the desire in her eyes.

"Not even..." he reached forward and started nibbling on her ear, "...if I wanted to... taste your _muffins_?"

Spies know being sensually silly sometimes has its rewards, too.

Much, much later in the morning, they met up with Sam, who not only wore his trademark Hawaiian shirt, but also had slipped on a pair of comfortable swimming shorts and flip-flops. Michael was dressed in ocean blue swimming trunks with an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt thrown casually on, exposing the front of his chest.

The three really did look ready for a fun day at the beach.

But spies know appearances are deceiving.

They drove up a long winding road which ended with a mansion on the hill. The private residence stood alone, lush and luxurious, while surrounded below by hundreds of middle-class single family dwellings.

During the whole drive up, Fi and Sam were evasive in telling Michael whom they were meeting.

Fi drove around the circular driveway and stopped her vehicle, as a hired worker ran to open her door to park her car. Loud music could be heard playing behind the perfectly manicured high shrubbery when they exited the car.

Fi smiled as she handed the valet her keys, "_Well..._ had I known the place was going to be _this_ chi-chi, I would have insisted on driving my Bentley," she teased.

"Whom did you say lived here, Fi?" asked Michael, as he got out of the vehicle to admire the vast estate.

"I didn't, Michael." answered Fi mysteriously.

She and Sam then exchanged looks.

Michael narrowed his eyes as he regarded his girlfriend and best friend. Sam and Fi in cahoots? Since when did hell freeze over? Michael was not sure he wanted to meet this new client. Something was definitely up.

They walked up to the elaborate hand-finished wooden door with the etched windows and rang the bell.

A distinguished elderly man wearing gray butler's tails answered the door. He gave them a slight bow with no smile. Michael almost felt like addressing him as "Alfred", despite not knowing his name.

They walked past the magnificent foyer with the cathedral ceilings, as Sam leaned into Michael and Fi.

"Psst. Did you notice the stuck-up expression the butler gave us? _It's like we're the lowly cocktail franks on a tray of shrimp puffs!"_

"Ssshhh!" insisted Fi, "Can't you for once act as if you belong, Sam?"

"...Said the woman who brought a shotgun to a bar mitzvah on our last assignment!"

They continued walking down a long corridor and the manservant opened the door leading to the pool party.

Immediately they were assaulted by blasting music and the bright sunlight.

A full gala pool party was happening underneath a poolside pavilion with a full-serviced bar. Everywhere Michael looked, bikinied women strutted past tables of seated bikinied women or swimming bikinied women. A shapely blonde was exiting the pool dripping wet, wearing a sexy two-piece.

"Son of a gun!" smiled Sam looking about at all the svelte swimsuited women, "I just _love_ the demographics here!"

Michael took in the whole ambiance. Exotic greenery flourished throughout. Everything spoke of wealth at this place. Imported European- designed lattice- weaved furniture gave an airy feeling, enhancing the beauty of the marble pool. There were elaborately carved statues of unknown goddesses situated at each corner of the elaborate pool.

"Psst! Mikey! Did you see all the sculptures of females?" Sam whispered, pointing at the statues, "I bet they symbolize the goddesses of pool parties!"

Michael nodded in agreement. This job was looking better and better.

Michael's scanning of the poolside amenities came to a sudden halt when he spotted a familiar figure. A tall man, with his blonde hair tied back, was discreetly watching the party from the bar.

Alarms went off in Michael's head.

He recognized Jackass, bodyguard to Fi's crazy gun dealer.

And where there's Jackass, Seymour can't be far behind.

So to speak.

Michael turned to leave when Fi caught his arm.

"_Oh no-o you don't, Michael!_ You are NOT leaving!" Fi held on firm as she turned to Sam, "Sam, help me out!"

Sam was definitely not ready to leave just yet.

"You're thinking of leaving this paradise, Mikey?" Sam questioned.

"...This isn't paradise, Sam. It's closer to hell."

"So, Mikey, let me get this straight. Your definition of _hell_ is a fancy mansion surrounded by beautiful women.."

"-with Seymour in the center of it, _yes_!"

Sam was distracted as two bikinied women strolled by. He looked dazed. " ...Sorry, what?..."

"He creeps me out," Michael tried to explain.

"_Who_?" asked Sam, watching another group of women, who wore almost nothing except seductive smiles.

"Seymour! _Seymour_ creeps me out, " explained Michael.

"See more, I _am_ seeing more!" Sam looked all about at the bathing beauties, no longer coherent.

"Ignore Sam, Michael, he's a goner. The perplexing part is Sam hasn't even had anything to drink yet," said Fi, "Anyway, creepy clients have never stopped us before."

Michael tried to argue his point more, "Fi, you know that whenever we help Seymour, things get crazy..."

"All I can tell you, buddy," interjected Sam, as he gestured towards the pool area with the beach bunnies, "is this looks to be the best pool party _ever_. Unlimited drinks, bombshell women, and did I mention, unlimited drinks and bombshell women? So I aim to enjoy myself."

"Listen, Sam, Fi...You two should have told me..." Michael stated to both, "or , rather, _warned_ me that this was Seymour's place.."

"and would you have come, Michael?" asked Fi.

"Perhaps not...but that's because," Michael was trying to think of an excuse, "...because...he stands... so close to me all the time!"

"...He stands so close to you?" repeated Sam, "So _what..._ are you offended by his _B.O._?"

"_No!_," said Michael, flabbergasted, but then after thinking about it, "Al-_though_..."

Fi rolled her eyes once again.

"Okay! Enough! Fine, Michael! _Fine_!" said Fi, throwing up her arms in surrender, "You are acting like a petulant child! If you can't handle that...that _Muppet_ of a gun runner, I give up! You can stand here and pout for the next hour. Sam and I can certainly handle any small, high paying job Seymour gives us, on our own! Come _on_, Sam!"

Sam shrugged and followed, "Sorry, Mikey...I don't have a choice...Fi is headed towards the women."

Michael was left standing alone.

Looking dejected, he looked one way and then the other, "I didn't say I couldn't handle it..." His voice trailed off as he followed them to a shaded area.

"Well, I hope the Gun- Muppet turns up soon," Sam said to Fi. They were standing by the umbrella tables when Michael came to join them again.

"He may have been called away," Michael hoped, "Maybe he-"

And like a tormented dream come true, Michael heard an ecstatic voice coming from behind him.

"Michael! _Oh, my god!_ Michael Westen! Bring out the harps! Let the choir in the heavens _sing_! It's destiny, I tell you, _pure destiny of a lifetime_! Welcome! Welcome to my awesome new digs!"

Seymour.

He came sauntering towards them, arms outstretched. Michael looked left and right, wondering what would be the best escape route.

"If you're thinking about running, forget it, Michael" Fi spoke at the side of her mouth,"You won't win the chase. It's Seymour with his running sneakers versus your old flip-flops."

"Maybe Mikey _should_ run," countered Sam, "I would _love_ to see Seymour tackle our Mikey! Seymour would never get up!"

Michael did not make a move.

That last image absolutely scared him to death.

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_I'm so happy to be back and this time with a Seymour story! Thanks for taking the time to read it!_

**_Please review._**


	2. Chapter 2

Introducing Seymour

Chapter 2

With music blaring and a host of bikinied bodies, the poolside party at the mansion was going full swing.

Michael turned and watched as Seymour enthusiastically approached with his arms outstretched, his wavy hair tamed in a ponytail and his eyes bugged- out with happiness. He wore all white as he strode quickly over, with Jackass trailing close behind.

As they stood, Fi leaned into Michael.

"_Play nice now, Michael_!" Fi whispered harshly to him, _"I may need to purchase a gun in the future!"_

Michael tried to gather his strength for this new 'crisis' he was facing.

A spy is often asked to be nice to someone for the sake of his girlfriend. This could mean being polite to a parent, a relative, or a best friend. But the boundaries should not necessarily include the girlfriend's demented arms dealer, no matter how friendly or rich he may be.

As Seymour came closer to the three, Fi and Sam greeted him with a smile.

Michael plastered on a forced smile as Seymour drew near.

"Sey-mour…" Michael nodded evenly.

Seymour didn't stop his approach and he was headed directly towards Michael.

Uh-oh.

Danger! Invading private space!

Before Michael could utilize his quick spy reactions, he was pulled in a friendly bear hug.

_Oof. _Private space squashed.

Michael almost suffocated, his eyes wide, as Seymour forced Michael's chest against his own, followed by a fervent pat on Michael's back before separating.

"Michael, oh Michael! How I have hauntingly _dreamed_ of this moment! We have so many freaking things to catch up on!" Seymour exclaimed, "and we could trade all KINDS of ass-kicking stories!"

"...Well, actually Seymour, that's not why I'm here-" began Michael.

But Seymour was busy summoning his manservant, "Alfred! Whip up mango smoothies! In fact _five_ mango smoothies for my friends here!"

"Uh...that would be _four_ mango smoothies," Sam corrected, pointing with his fingers at the four of them.

"Ri-iight," Seymour agreed, "although a fifth one would allow us to kick more asses!"

"As you wish, sir," answered Alfred with a bow. He left to make the smoothies, taking Jackass with him. This left Seymour, Sam and Michael as the only males alongside the bevy of bikinied beauties.

_So the manservant's actual name was Alfred_! Michael thought to himself. But why _wouldn't_ that be his name? Alfred was like a butler from central casting.

"Sit, sit, everyone!" Seymour invited his new guests, gesturing.

Michael. Fi and Sam started gathering around the round glass table with the green-colored cushioned patio chairs. Before Michael could take his seat, however, Seymour stuck out his arm in front of Michael to impede his forward movements.

"Wait, Michael! _Stop!_ Don't move another sinewy muscle on that well-toned body of yours!"

Michael watched Seymour's hand, willing it not to go any lower.

Seymour then excitedly indicated a seat next to him as he proudly announced, "...Michael Westen! I've reserved this _special_ seat for you_, _my very _distinguished_ guest of honor!"

Michael looked in horror at the lone _mango_-colored cushioned chair.

It was hard for Sam and Fi to keep a straight face as everyone took their seats.

"Michael, you look as badass cool as ever!" Seymour stated as he got a good look at the opened front of Michael's chest, "I see you've been keeping up with your workout routines!"

Michael tried to look nonchalant, but it was hard when Seymour was staring at his chest. Michael turned to give Fi a look as if to say, _"help me out."_

"O-oh... I must say, Seymour," said Fi with a smile," You are looking good yourself..."

"You bet your sweet ass, Fiona! I've been working on my yoga poses!"

"Well, hey there, buddy...speaking of looking great..." interjected Sam, pointing at himself, "I've dropped a few inches myself!...I've learned that I get results by working out until I break out in a heavy _sweat_!"

"That's not sweat, Sam," stated Fi, "...that's your body crying."

"Oh, Fi,Fi, Fi, " tsked Sam, "funny, clever, annoying Fi. At least I'm not just exercising my mouth..."

Fi was ready for her comeback until Michael held up his finger to halt Sam and Fi's exchange of zingers.

"...I believe that is enough reminiscing for now," finalized Michael as he turned to the host, "aren't we here to discuss a job you have for us, Seymour?"

"Oh, yes! yes! Of course!" agreed Seymour, "But wait! Big, freaking, insistent wait! I need to know... did you miss me, Michael? When you were on other _kick-their-asses-to-hell_ missions, did you wish I were right beside you?"

Off on _another_ tangent, Michael thought, as he took a deep breath. Seymour had the attention span of a goldfish.

"Seymour…we were _never_ on a mission together…"

Seymour's hands flew to his chest, clearly taken aback.

"What? _What?_ W-what are you saying, Michael? The first time we worked together was August 21, 2007,and the second time was February 5 of the following year!"

His eyes looked misty and his voice went an octave higher as he continued.

Should I also remind you of the _hour of the day_ we worked together? How can you say we were not on a mission together? We were like a spy triad!" He turned hopefully to Fi, "Am I right, Fiona?"

Fi obviously remembered that Michael had not sided with her against Sam.

She smiled agreeably, "Spy triad."

Seymour smiled back at her, "those were great ass-whopping days, weren't they?"

Michael gave Fi a look, but she pretended not to have noticed.

"Seymour, they were the best."

"And did you tell him, Fiona?" Seymour asked, "Did you announce to him with mighty trumpets blaring, my new name? My absolutely a-mazing alias? My neoteric new moniker? The one that will make men cower in fear, the same way they do whenever they hear the name '_Michael Westen_'?"

Michael's eyes went large with alarm. No, no! no! Michael screamed in his mind, _please..._ don't let the name be... _'Seymour Westen'._

"No, Seymour, " said Fi, with a slight grin, "I wanted _you _to tell him the good news."

"It's Razor," announced Seymour overjoyed, "_Ra-zor_. R-a-z-."

"I've got it," said Michael, breathing a sense of relief, "You don't need to spell it out for me."

"Wow! you _are_ fast, Michael! Then, can you call me Razor?" Seymour asked, "Please? Take your time."

The three at the table turned expectedly at Michael.

"_What_?" Michael asked questionably, looking around at the attention focused on him.

Fi kicked Michael underneath the table, "He means right _now_, Michael!"

"_This_ is taking my time?"

Spies know dealing with a crazed gun- runner is like dealing with an adversary. You won't get anywhere if you don't cooperate. Michael tried to hold back his impatience as he spoke in a monotone voice.

"Ra-zor."

Seymour could barely contain himself. He almost fell off his chair.

"See there now? We are _so_ good for each other, Michael! Freaking simpatico together! Hand in hand we go! It's like having a scratch for every itch!"

"Seymour, that is wrong on _so_ many levels," stated Michael flat out.

But Seymour could not be placated.

"Freaking _excellente!._..and now that we have our special connection back, I need to ask a favor of you, Michael! Don't worry, you'll love it!"

Michael's biggest fear came to mind.

"It-doesn't-involve-close-quarters, does it?"

Seymour's eyes lit up.

"Wow!.._if only_!"

He leaned in as Michael leaned out.

"How about you put on your sunglasses now? Just for me? Bring the attitude of _Badass_ to this table, why, to this party, in fact!"

Michael looked hesitantly at Fi and Sam as he reached in his top shirt pocket, and produced his glasses. He casually put them on, never moving his head, just staring straight ahead. Doing nothing.

"We good now, Razor?"

Razor sighed, "Wow!...You here enjoying my party, wearing badass shades while calling me Razor at the same time! Me doing for you and vice versa! Our motto when we do badass missions together from now on should be: I do you and you do me!"

A random snicker was heard.

Michael quickly turned towards Sam and Fi with a stern warning, "Don't say anything!..."

Sam and Fi merely blinked several times.

"Oo-_kay_, _Razor_, just tell me why I am here." Michael wanted to hear the job, and be done with it.

"Sure! Sure! But first, my awesome friends, you should know...I am _in love_!"

"Well, _that_ we already know…" said Sam, looking teasingly at Michael.

Michael had not sided with Sam either.

"Really? Did I tell you that already?" Seymour's face slightly fell as he turned to look at Sam, "Did I mention her name, too?"

Frustration showed on Michael's face.

"Ra-_zor_...no more announcements, no more special requests, no more personal asides, just business talk, alright?…the reason why I am here?"

Seymour nodded, "Yes! Yes! I'm getting there, but just one more thing...

Michael took a deep breath, "one..."

Seymour looked directly into Michael's eyes, "I know this is rather sudden...but will you be..."

"_I think he's going down on bended knees!_"whispered Fi to Sam.

Sam whispered back to Fi in a squealing girly voice.

_"O-M-G! Let's see the ring! Squee!_" jested Sam.

Michael gave both Sam and Fi the look.

"Michael, Michael! Are you listening? This is freaking important!" Seymour insisted.

"Yes, go ahead."

Seymour took a very deep breath in.

"Michael 'kick-ass' Westen...Will you be...my best man?"

Fi tried to keep a straight face. "But I thought he already was."

They were interrupted as they heard a snippet of the love song "_My Heart Will Go On_." floating through the air.

_(music) Near, far, wherever you are_  
><em>I believe that the heart does go on...<em>

"How appropriate!" quipped Sam.

Seymour had a pleased look, "Oh! Hold on!"

He reached in his pocket and pulling out his cell phone, "My awesome new ringtone! I loooove it!"

Seymour held his cell phone out as the ringtone finished.

_(music) ...And my heart will go on and on..._

"Did you hear that ringtone, Michael?" whispered Fi, as Seymour checked the caller ID, "I figured that would have been the ringtone for _your_ number!"

"Remember, Fi" warned Michael, his tone low, "I haven't said yes to the job yet."

Fi quietly held out her hands in a surrender pose, her eyes large with innocence.

"Oh! It's _her_!" exclaimed Seymour, "My true love has called me on my freaking phone! It's truly her! It's wondrous, mind-blowing her! Maybe you could say hello, Michael!"

"No, Seym—Razor, really, no…" began Michael, shaking his head.

Seymour's finger hovered over the push button as he viewed the tiny display. "Oh! Wow, oh! My Cupid's arrow-struck-heart be still! She's sending me an incoming video! Joy to the freaking world!"

Seymour was practically jumping out of his seat, "You'll be able to see a picture of her! I fell in love with her at first sight!"

"...But she probably needed a second or_ fiftieth_ look," Sam whispered covertly to Michael and Fi.

Seymour squinted at the screen, trying to angle the cell phone several ways due to the sun's glare. Seymour finally cupped his hand around the tiny display and tried to use his body as a shade.

It took him a few seconds for the picture to completely appear. Seymour seemed mesmerized by a short video that was playing on the small screen.

"My love destiny is coming into view! I can see her! She's walking...my god! One amazing foot at a time!"

As he continued watching, his smile slowing began dissipating. Michael watched as his excited expression changed to one of incredulous shock.

"What? Oh no! Oh no, oh, freaking God _no!_ She's...she's..."

He looked at them, clearly distressed. Sam and Fi sat up. They could see that whatever Seymour was viewing was upsetting him.

Fi leaned forward, concerned.

"Razor? What is it?"

_"No, no, not her! I don't believe it!..."_

Seymour looked over at Michael, his entire body shaking, yet he said nothing.

"Mikey, Razor's face is looking even _more_ pale," Sam noted, "if that were possible."

Michael saw it, too. Sheer terror showed on Razor's face.

Seymour stared straight ahead. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. The only sound that could be heard was the release of his phone as he allowed it to fall from his hand.

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_Please review_


	3. Chapter 3

Seymour doesn't want to see more

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Chapter 3

The pool beach party was going full blast at Seymour's mansion. Everyone seemed to be having a grand time, except Seymour, the host of the party.

Seated at a table with Michael, Fi and Sam, he had obviously witnessed something harrowing on his video cell phone. Seymour bleakly placed his elbows on the table as he held his two hands to the side of his head.

Looking down with his head between his two hands, Seymour moaned, "Livvy, Jeez, Livvy."

Michael picked up Seymour's fallen phone. He glanced over at a despaired Seymour one more time before he pushed the view button again. Sam and Fi crowded in to also view.

The screen lit up. A soundless video appeared. It took awhile for Michael to focus on the small screen.

_The video showed the hallway of a somewhat older hotel. Soon the backside of a casually,-clad woman with straight brunette hair could been seen. As she reached the door of the hotel room, she inserted her room key card, went in and shut the door._

_Seemingly seconds later, the back of a tall well-built man with salt and pepper movie-star hair could be seen walking down the hallway. He stopped by the same door and knocked, saying something through the door. _

_When __he __didn't __get __a __response, __he __started __to __walk__away. __Appearing __to __have __second __thoughts, __he __halted. __Backtracking, __he __assuredly __inserted __a __key __card, __entered __the __room __and __slammed __the __door __shut __again._

_The video ended._

Sam looked up after viewing the short video, "So…that's it?"

Seymour turned, "What do you mean '_that's __it'_? Did you _see_ all of the earth-shattering video? _'That's __it'_ is something you say after you tie your shoelaces!"

"Really? You actually say _'that's __it_' in your mind after tying your shoelaces?" Sam asked.

"Of course! Don't you?" Seymour asked as Michael, Fi and Sam looked blank.

"Razor, " Fi reasoned, "Whatever you're thinking...it could be completely innocuous."

"Sure," agreed Seymour, nodding, "shoelaces usually are."

"Don't get fuzzy on us now, Buddy," said Sam to Seymour, "Focus, or at least fine-tune. Fi is referring to the _video_ being totally innocuous."

All around them, the party continued, oblivious to their host's dilemma. Back at the table, It seemed as if the party had moved poolside as many of the bikinied women were now bouncing beach balls in the water. Sam looked longingly in that direction.

Meanwhile Seymour recalled what he had seen in the video and looked in a state of shock.

"Oh how fate has dealt me an kicking ass blow! My true love in that sordid video! She's seeing someone else!"

"Do you recognize that man?" asked Michael.

To the surprise of all, Seymour nodded.

"Yeah! Dammit, I do!...It's... it's freaking George Clooney, re-enacting his scene from 'An Affair to Remember'!"

"Uh..."said Sam, "George Clooney was never in...oh, forget it."

Seymour wasn't listening anyway. Off in the background, clinking champagne glasses could be heard. It was now a beach ball contest in the pool. There were high pitched screams and laughs. The noise of splashing water could be heard. But Seymour wasn't aware as he continued lamenting.

"I can't believe it! I'm so freaking bummed out! She's my universe of one! We were getting so close...I was even thinking of asking her to live next door to me!"

Michael needed to get this conversation back on track. And fast.

"So, as far as you know, Razor, where was Olivia suppose to be during this time?" asked Michael.

"…Oh! That answer I know! She was supposed to be at a freaking _business_ conference for florists in Boston! No wonder she never called me back! All this time, she was with this...this... George Clooney man!"

""Well, if you gotta be with a man_,__it__'__s __not __too __bad __having __George __Clooney __as __that __man,_" commented Sam, followed by an 'ow!' as Fi kicked him.

Seymour looked further distraught.

"Oh, how I wished I had never seen that horrid video! My eyes have been witness to smut!"

Michael looked at Seymour's grief-sticken face. Seymour was clearly in love, and thankfully it was with someone else.

"Razor," asked Michael, "did you originally ask us to come here because your girlfriend had been missing?"

Seymour nodded as his misery was slowly evolving into anger.

"Obviously, she's not freaking missing _now_! As we speak, I bet she headed to the Oscars with Gigolo Clooney!"

Fi could see that Seymour needed their help, although even she was getting frustrated with Seymour's overstatements. It might take some work to convince Michael, however, since he never needed as many weapons to buy as she required.

"Michael," pleaded Fi, "I think this is worth checking out. Seymour could be right -minus the George Clooney part, that is. It's hard to figure out what was going on in that short video. Olivia could even be in trouble for all we know."

Seymour breathed in so hard that Michael thought he had sucked in his teeth.

"Fiona... are you freaking saying that...that sleazy George... may be there to _harm_ _my_ Livvy? I hadn't even _thought_ of that! Oh, no! no! But then, I never _did_ trust that freaky movie star! That George was always too handsome, too debonair, too goddamn lucky! _Why, __he __probably __even __had __an __ass-kicking __puberty!_ Ahhh! Fiona! I am dying inside! There are parts of me shriveling up as I speak!"

No one wanted to ask what Seymour meant by 'shriveling up."

"Nice going, Fi!" stated Sam, sarcastically "You really have a way with cheering a person up!"

Seymour was obviously buried in misery and anger. Fi looked unperturbed as she turned to Seymour.

"Look, Seymour, stop with the melodrama. For now all we know that two people walked down a hallway and entered a room at different times…how is that smut?"

Seymour looked straight at Fi, "What if it were Michael in that pornfest hallway video?"

That definitely brought a change to Fi's cool demeanor. Michael and Sam observed her carefully, not knowing what to expect from her. Would she reach out and slap Seymour? Better him than me, Michael thought.

Michael became aware that Fi had turned and was watching him. Somehow Michael felt he had to defend himself, although he had not done a thing.

"Fi, I—"

"Don't worry, Michael," she stated casually, "the very _last_ thing I would ever do is physically hurt you."

Michael breathed normally again.

"…Of course," she added as an afterthought, "I always work through my list _backwards_…"

Spies learn to stay calm when chaos is all around them. At least that is how it seemed to the outside world. The reality is that they are calm because they just don't understand or the situation. Especially when it includes their girlfriends.

And now that she had her feelings out, she could once more concentrate on Seymour's problem.

The way I see it" Fi was explaining to Seymour, "is if that George character is up to no good, we'll just do what you might call, some _ass-kicking..._ right, Razor?"

Seymour, who had been looking teary-eyed, now watched her with brighter eyes.

"Did I hear the amazing words _ass __kicking_? Fiona, baby, you say the best freaking things in the world!"

Fi gave Sam a satisfied look, "Problem solved, as always, Sam."

"Yeah," said Sam, "Great empathy there. Let's beat up or shoot someone whenever we are feeling hurt and angry!"

"Isn't that the best time, Sam? Or when _should_ we do those things? When we're feeling _festive_?"

Sam turned to Michael, "Do you hear her, Mikey? Is it coming in loud and clear or do I need to get a megaphone? _T__his_ is the person you share your most tender, caring moments with?"

But Michael, at this moment was deep in thought.

He was trying to compartmentalized everything in his mind. So, Seymour had called, wanting them to find his missing girlfriend. And now there is proof that she may not have met with some nefarious actions. What was the reason for that strange man's visit to Olivia's room?

And of course, the most obvious question was: To what purpose was this tape sent to Seymour?

But maybe Michael was not the person to pursue this.

"Have you thought of contacting the police?" Michael asked.

Seymour dismissed that idea quickly.

"Police? Freaking _No_ to that! I never trust them," stated Seymour, "They are only good for two things: directing yo to a good donut shop, and checking the trunks of cars!... Michael! That is why I need _your_ awesome help! You already know what's in my trunk and with your badass methods, you could get my Livvy back AND teach George Clooney a lesson!"

"First off, Seymour-" began Michael.

"-You mean Razor," corrected Seymour. Michael sighed.

"First off, _Razor"_ corrected Michael, "that man probably wasn't George Clooney."

Seymour nodded, admiration in his eyes, "Already making awesomely clever deductions...good, good..."

Second point is..." Michael paused when he saw the pleading in Fi's eyes and the dimming hope in Seymour's.

"...Second point is," Michael relented with a sigh, "I guess it wouldn't hurt to find out what happened to...Livvy..."

Michael hoped he wasn't going to regret this as he heard Seymour exclaimed:

"Oh Michael! That is ass-kicking good news! And guess what? I'm not shriveled up anymore! Want to see?"

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Next chapter we'll see some action!

_**Please review**_


	4. Chapter 4

Help

Chapter 4

There is a famous saying, "If you can't beat them, join them."

Spies live by a different code: "If you can't beat them, join them, even though you may want to beat them.."

And that was how Michael felt towards Seymour, but he decided that Seymour needed his, Sam and Fi's help. At least until they knew that Olivia was safe.

"You _rock_, Michael!" Seymour clasped his hands joyously together, "If anyone can find my Livvy, I know _you_ can! There is going to be some atrociously great ass kicking! I can freaking feel it! That evil video was so...so... terrible, repulsive, disgusting, and horrible! It was a mind-blowing staggering calamity!"

"Yeah, yeah, enough, already, Razor," commented Sam, "...It's like we are listening to the rantings of an exploding thesaurus."

"Sam has a point," interjected Michael, "We can't let emotions get in the way of what we need to get done. First things first. Let's start with some background information. Let me ask you this...how long has your girlfriend been missing?""

"Awesome question!"

Seymour looked up at the ceiling, as if he were counting, "Let's see...hmmm...I haven't heard from her...for...a good five hours!"

"_What the hell, Razor!_" exclaimed Sam, "Look, she's not missing, she's taking a shower! Why are we here? Right, Mikey? Uh...Mikey?"

Everyone had turned to hear Michael's response, but he seemed a million miles away.

Michael was not aware of the blasting music, the hard bikinied bodies or the luxurious setting. He barely moved his head as he scanned the entire party scene, including the pool area, his senses adjusted to high alert.

"Michael?" asked Fi, is there something wrong?"

Michael kept a watchful eye on the door leading back to the house, "Where's Alfred? Where's the bodyguard? They've been gone an awfully long time."

"I hear you, buddy, " said Sam, "I'm getting thirsty, too."

"That's not what I meant," explained Michael, "it's highly unusual for the bodyguard to be gone for so long from Seymour's side."

Seymour nodded, his mouth slightly opened, his eyes large.

"Is this bad ass surveillance I am witnessing?"

Michael checked once more around the area, and watched for the door leading to the hallway to open. Nothing. Michael then looked at his watch and made a decision.

"I'm going back inside the mansion to check things out."

When Sam and Fi also got up, Michael gestured for them to stay.

"No, go ahead and enjoy yourselves. No need for all of us to be rambling around that big mansion. We'd have to separate and we wouldn't be able to separate our sounds and movements from an adversary. It's best I go alone. I'll just take a quick look about."

Fi placed her hand gently on Michael's thigh, "Michael, it goes without saying, but be careful."

Michael grinned at her, "Always, Fi. Alfred and the bodyguard may just be taking their time with the drinks. It's probably nothing at all. Hopefully, I'm just being paranoid."

Fi looked towards the pool, "The pool _does_ look inviting, so I will take a quick dip. But I warn you, I am only giving you 10 minutes before I will come get you."

Sam rubbed his hands together as he looked over at the bar and then at the pool of bathing beautiful. A couple of especially enticing ladies noticed him looking their way and made inviting gestures for him to join them, all the while laughing and splashing in the water.

"Well, I'm more accommodating, buddy. I'll give you 20...uh, perhaps 45 minutes. After all, we need to blend in here. Don't want these luscious ladies getting suspicious. The way I see it, this is the most cynical group of bathing beauties I have ever seen and..._and oh hey, there, gorgeous!_"

One of the 'skeptical' swimsuit lovelies had sauntered past them and Sam wanted to make sure to acknowledge her. Still within flirting distance, he yelled out to her.

_"Say...what time to you have to be back in heaven?"_

The curvaceous woman turned around and looked at Sam over one shoulder, giggled, and returned a flirtatious wave as Fi rolled her eyes.

"If that's how you work, Sam" commented Fi, "You should be fired immediately."

Sam took out his cell phone.

"Fi, I'm deleting you from my 'family and almost-friends plan' right now, " said Sam, "then I am going to spotlight the old Sam Axe charm for that pretty little bikinied thing that just walked by!"

"Just be sure to suck in your gut when you approach her," Fi advised.

Sam glanced down at his stomach.

"What are you talking about?" Sam was obviously in a good mood, "You think this is a beer gut here? No way, sister! This is a protective covering for my rock hard abs!"

That was the last conversation Michael heard as he stood to leave the safety of his friends. Before he left, Seymour had pulled out a gun from under the table and handed it earnestly to Michael.

"Be safe, my most awesomeness of friends!"

Seymour keeps a gun randomly under a table? Michael thought to himself. Who was was he to argue? He took the gun with a grateful nod.

Michael walked across the spacious patio and opened the door leading back to the mansion.

Closing the door behind him, the loud music from the party sounded muffled. Michael listened attentively to any sounds within the confines of the mansion, trying to hear anything amiss as he strode cautiously down the hallway, gun held high in his hand.

The high windows and chandeliers added a bright light throughout the mansion. Everything seemed as it should, and yet...

The hair on the back of Michael's neck stood on ends the more he traveled down the hallway. He passed many rooms, peeking in, but nothing looked out of place. That alone caused alarm, for wouldn't he hear noise coming from either Alfred or Jackass?

It was so quiet, he could hear a pin drop. He just hoped he wouldn't hear a body drop.

He passed one opened doorway of what looked to be a den and took a quick glance in. He was ready to move on until something unusual caught the corner of his eye and he looked in again.

Oh, this did not look good.

A pair of shoes was next to the huge oak desk.

The unusual thing about it was that the shoes were sticking straight up, not laying flat. And they were not empty. Michael poked his head further in and could see that these shoes seemed to be connected to an ankle, which could only mean a human body was laid out on the floor.

Michael crept in, holding his gun straight out, whipping it left and right, ready to react if he needed to. He took a fast look around the room. Leather books three stories high covered one wall. Cherry mahogany dominated the dark paneled walls. Paintings of old sailing ships were framed under portrait lamps. There was a huge antique wooden globe in the center of the room.

A random thought entered Michael's mind that rich people or maybe rich designers seemed to really like old globes. He needed to clear his mind and get to the other side of that desk.

Michael approached the large solid desk, knowing he would find a body, but not knowing if it were friend or foe. He held out his gun, cocked, as he stood over the unconscious body. He lowered his gun arm when he recognized the body.

Jackass.

Michael bent over and felt Jackass' pulse. He was relieved when he noticed Jackass was still breathing. Someone had just knocked him out cold. Michael then felt about Jackass' head. There was some softness and something sticky when Michael's hand felt the back of Jackass' head. When Michael pulled his hand out, he wasn't surprise there was a little blood.

He was wondering what to make of it when he heard some whispering coming from the hallway. Michael had no choice, but to stay crouched behind the solid oak desk. He physically scooted in closer to the desk, hoping the robbers would just give a quick look-see before moving on.

He heard two cocked weapons.

"I'm telling you…I saw him come in here." said one, whispering,"Sh*t! It's not worth it! Let's just go...it's obviously not here."

"Probably not, but we can't afford any f*cking loose ends. I'm just gonna check this room again one last time..."

Michael heard one set of footsteps departing as another one came inside the room.

The Second One took two steps in the room. Michael stopped breathing. Staying low, Michael quietly pulled out the chair, so that he could look through the opening in the desk space. He could see the footsteps getting closer and closer to the oak desk.

He observed the shoes turn this way and that, as the guy seemed to be giving the room one thorough sweep.

Michael knew he had to do something, for he was only seconds from being discovered.

Michael silently crawled into the opened center space of the huge desk. He waited until the two pants legs were right up against the desk. Then Michael reached his arms out, grabbed hold of the legs and with one big jerk, pulled them towards the desk.

"Yeeeoww!" he heard a huge thud as the huge man fell back first onto the floor.

Michael stood up and whipped around to the other side. The unknown robber was flat out on the floor, moaning, while holding onto his back. His gun was on the ground as Michael retrieved it and put the safety back on the gun before putting it in his waist.

Michael bent down and grabbed the guy by the scuff of his neck. Then he jammed Seymour's gun in the guy's face.

"_Stop with the moaning I'll give you something to __**really **__moan about!_" threatened a whispering Michael, "_Whom do you work for?"_

"Ow! Ow! Stop! My damn back! You broke my f*cking back!"

Michael cocked the gun hard in the man's face as he angrily whispered.

"_Who cares about your back? I'm not your damn chiropractor._"

The barrel of the gun pressed against his cheek quieted the guy's groans.

"_I'm going to ask you again,"_ warned Michael in a deadly whisper, _"Whom do you work for? It will be good for your health if you answer me!"_

"No way I'm telling you! Better to die quick like this than what _he_ will do to me!"

Before Michael could proceed, however, he felt a barrel forcibly leveled against the back of his head.

"You better let go of him, or I'll blow your f*cking head off and then go out to the pool area and shoot everyone dead out there," threatened a gruff voice.

Michael dropped the guy he was holding on to and put up his hands as he felt his gun being taken away.

"Don't turn around or you're dead," First One warned.

Michael was at a disadvantage, but he was not going down without a fight.

Michael started to get up, readying himself to whip around and confront the assailant. Suddenly Michael felt a sharp pain at the side of his head as First One pounded him hard with the butt of the gun. Michael's head throbbed and then he felt his body falling and hitting the floor hard.

He was left in a world of darkness.

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_Please review._


	5. Chapter 5

The phone call

Chapter 5

As Michael slowly came too, his eyelids were heavy and his body felt sluggish and weak. Worst of all, there was an ache in the back of his head.

Opening his eyes, he waited until the bleariness had cleared.

He was laying in a king-sized bed situated in an elaborately furnished bedroom. Rich neutrals and saturated tones evoked a manly atmosphere. All the furniture were made from sturdy dark oak, including the headboard. A strong graphic art hung on the wall.

Michael's eyes opened wider at the singular fresh mango sitting at the dresser.

Oh, god, no…

Please... don't let there be someone laying next to him, other than Fi, that is.

Michael jerked his head to the side and let out a long breath. He closed his eyes in relief, glad to be alone in the bed.

Opening them again he looked around and his heart raced at the sight next to his bed. Fi sat in a chair, looking over a random gun, turning it in all angles. He watched as she expertly loaded and unloaded the weapon with complete concentration.

He observed her quietly for a moment because just seeing her was comforting.

When Michael finally spoke, his voice sounded so rough and raspy.

"Where is everyone? Is the party over?"

Fi's eyes widened at the sound of his voice. She hurriedly put the gun on safety before dropping it and rushing to his side.

But before she could reach him, Seymour beat her to the edge of the bed.

"Michael!" Seymour's body seem to eclipse Fi completely, "Welcome! You're back among us! Did you see a light or go through a tunnel while you were out? At least tell me you went under a freeway overpass! That would have been majorly awesome!"

Fi was behind Seymour, bobbing and weaving, trying to get a glance of Michael. Finally, she lost patience and just shoved Seymour aside. A thud was heard behind her and now _she_ was the closest person to Michael.

"Oof! Fiona!"

Seymour's voice could be heard from somewhere on the ground, "That's an awesome push you're packing..."

"W-what happened, Fi?" Michael asked. still in a daze. He remembered someone placing a gun next to his head, and then nothing.

Fi gave Michael a short summary. Two men had broken in, obviously searching for something specific, as nothing was actually taken. Jackass and Alfred had picked the wrong time to walk in on them rifling through one of the rooms. They knocked out Jackass and Alfred, dragging them to different rooms. Both Jackass and Alfred were fine now.

Michael rubbed his forehead before he asked the next question.

"Where are the those two robbers now? Were you able to question them?"

Fi's shoulders sagged as her expression changed to one of guilt.

Not good.

Seymour jumped up from the floor and filled in the silence.

Oh, Michael! You should have seen our badass Fiona! She was fearless!" Seymour looked so excited. He was now at the side of Fi as he formed 'guns' with his index fingers.

"Pow! Pow!"

Not good at all.

"Fi, tell me you didn't…" said Michael.

At least she had the sense to look contrite.

"Michael, when I went in the den and saw you just lying on the floor like that…not knowing if you were dead or alive…I was filled with so much rage..."

She looked straight at him, her beautiful blue/green eyes were large and luminous, looking blameless. She was willing to take whatever consequence he would dole out to her. But Michael was looking at her as if she were a lovely figure in a dream. He reached out and gently touched her cheek.

"Fi, thank you for protecting me," he said gently, his voice cracking a bit.

Hearing his parched answer, Fi wordlessly reached over and poured a glass of water. Then, sitting at the side of the bed, she kept her hand on the glass and slid her arm behind his head. Unsteadily he leaned back against her supporting arm as he took a few listless swallows. Then she gently eased him back to the pillow.

Michael loved Caring Fi.

The simple scene touched Seymour down to his enthusiastic soul.

"Wow! I'm going to need some of that water just to pour on me to cool me down! Cool me way down! That was Amazon rainforest hot! I think I can hear Macaws cawing!"

"Seymour, " sighed Michael, a little embarrassed, "are you here for a reason?."

"Just checking in with my favorite spy," Seymour stated, "I know getting conked in the head is a slight setback, but the awesomely good side of this is you can stay in this bed as long as you like! It'll be a while before I will wash _those_ precious sheets again!"

"What?" Michael popped up, at the thought that this was Seymour's bed. He didn't want to breathe, in case he picked up Seymour's scent.

But he had gotten up too quickly. In a second, the room started to spin as his head felt a sharp pain. He put his hands up to his head as the dizziness continued.

"M-ichael," insisted Fi, helping him back to bed, "This isn't Razor's actual sleeping bed! Relax, it's the one in his guest room!"

Michael calmed down and plopped his head back on the pillow.

Sam appeared at the doorway. His Hawaiian shirt was unbuttoned, his hair was wet. He was obviously having a great time, "You okay, Mikey? They whacked you pretty good back there. You're going to have one giant goose egg in the back of your head by tonight."

"Thank you, Sam, I could see you were very concern," Michael said drolly, now feeling better as he now slowly sat up, leaning his back against the headboard, "I'm sorry my assault kept you five minutes away from your partying."

"Ha ha. Mikey. Just to let you know, my job was to act as if everything was normal. We didn't want to spook the guests now, did we?" pointed out Sam, "I mean, it's not easy getting you up on the bed and then dragging two dead bodies out of this place before any of our bathing beauties could see what was up. I had to keep checking my swimming trunks to make sure there weren't any bloodstains."

Fi rolled her eyes, "Well, Sam, you'd be the only one checking out your swimming trunks!"

"At least I can fill them out..."

"Why you..."

Fi started forward towards Sam as he puffed out his chest.

"Come on, sister, let's see what you've got when you don't have a sniper in your hands..."

"Oh, I can do plenty of damage, let me show you!" said Fi, as she closed the gap between them.

"Gosh, I _would_ chest- bump you," commented Sam, "but only one of us has a chest to speak of."

"Guys, _guys._..Remember me? The victim?" Michael reminded them as they both reluctantly backed down.

Seymour entered the conversation with his suggestion.

"Yeah, any action here would be awesome, but I think it's time to take some action against the bad guys! Someone's ass should be on the line!"

"For once Seymour makes sense and I agree with him!" said Fi.

"Why am I not surprised?" commented Sam, "In your world, all problems are solved with a one- two punch."

"And your kind of punch would be mixed with an alcoholic drink..." Fi noted.

"At least, it's my drink that is mixed up..." Sam countered.

"Alright, alright." refereed Michael again, "Between the two of you, it's like trying to control two boxers who can't wait for the bell to ring."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Michael," observed Fi, "As a sport, I find the boxing rather poetic, somewhat like a ballet. "

"She's right,you know, Mikey." agreed Sam, "Boxing _is_ like a ballet... if boxing would add music to its footwork and ballet dancers got to hit each other."

Both Sam and Fi were exchanging agreeable nods now.

Michael shook his head, "It made more sense when you two were constantly arguing."

He now turned his attention to Seymour.

"Razor, why not try calling the hotel Olivia is staying at, see if she checked in on time?"

Seymour nodded, "Brilliant! How can your perfectly shaped small head ever hold your huge brain?"

"Thanks, I think, "said Michael.

Seymour took out a piece of paper with scribbled numbers and began dialing.

Seymour pushed the conference call button so all could hear. At the hotel, the front desk had informed Seymour that an Olivia Hutton had never registered, and that there was no record of a florist conference being held in any of the rented conference rooms.

So she had lied as to her destination. Not a surprise there.

Michael was hoping, at best, that Olivia just wanted to be by herself for awhile. Looking at Seymour, Michael could see why, but Seymour claimed everything was just '_amazingly badass __wonderful_' between them.

"So ...seeing there is not much I can do here, "suggested Sam, "I think I should head out to the party to, you know, make sure everything is on the up and up."

"While you do that," said Michael, moving up slowly, "I will get the hell out of this bed and out of this bedroom."

.

Two hours later, the fun and enticing partygoers had left.

The poolside area had an intimate feeling about it as night began to fall. A few of the tealight lanterns on poles were lit as lights illuminated all around the Grecian style pool.

Michael looked at his watch. Olivia had been missing for 10 hours. Should he tell Seymour to try and call her again? What should he tell Seymour to say to her? _"Hi __there, __say...__what's __up __with __the __dingy __motel?_" or "_Seen __George __Clooney __lately?"_

Of course, Michael would not really tell Seymour to ask those questions, but he did make Seymour call Olivia on his cell phone. The four of them heard the phone ring four times before going to voice mail.

"That is the third message I have left her, "Seymour said, worriedly shaking his head, "I don't want to call her too many times-she just might think I'm _crazy_ or something."

"Oh, well, pfft! Why would she ever think that?" asked Sam with a straight face.

"Playing the devil's advocate, Razor," asked Fi, "any chance that she purposely is avoiding you? Maybe she wants to break up?"

Seymour started hyperventilating.

"Oh, Supreme Being, no! (heave) no! NO! (heave) Don't let it be that! (heave). NO! and also..._no_..."

"Hey, calm down, there Razor!" Sam roughly said, "You're using up all the air!"

"Don't you people realize?" Seymour found his words, "Olivia and I are soulmates! Soulmates I tell you! Look at whom I am talking to about finding their soulmate!"

He was looking directly at Michael and Fi.

Fi looked over at Michael who somehow seemed to avoid her gaze. Although they were in a committed relationship and she was living with him, she was aware that he had never actually said the words "I love you". It came close, that time he was rolling soup cans under her feet, but she wasn't sure if that counted. One should never say I love you when bowling down your girlfriend with soup cans.

"Michael, " suggested Seymour, "this time when you go after the bad guys, I want to be right there with you."

Seymour pulled a gun hidden in a potted plant.

"Whoa," said a surprised Sam, "Guns under patio tables, guns in potted plants? You have guns coming out of the wah-zoo!"

"Hey!" evaluated Seymour, "Manicurists keep different shades of nail polish nearby, chefs keep various ingredients on hand and spies keep many secrets files available. Why should my profession be any different?"

He had a point.

Soon, Seymour, Fi and Sam were in a discussion about the merits of various assault and sniper rifles. Of course, Fi was doing most of the talking, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy, no less.

Michael watched the reflected lights from the pool, as he was deep in thought. He concluded that Olivia probably had not sent the video to Seymour. The video had come from Livvy's phone, yes, but she was the subject of the film- the filmee, not the filmer.

Besides, she was a florist. She had no motel surveillance camera connections, she showed no signs of being aware of the taping, and as of now, there were no signs it would benefit her relationship with Seymour.

On top of that, how was this connected to the attempted robbery at Seymour's place this afternoon? All very strange.

Seymour's cell phone had been laying on the patio table. Suddenly the song "My Heart Will Go On" was heard playing. All four people looked at each other.

By now they recognized it as Olivia's ringtone.

Michael nodded, "Go ahead, Seymour, answer it."

Seymour reached over and pressed the conference button, "Hel-lo?"

"Raze, hey, babes!" a female voice cheerfully said, "It's me! How was your day?"

The tone of her voice gave the impression of someone happy to be calling her boyfriend. The normal-sounding voice appeared to be from a woman oblivious to any problems.

Olivia.

And just in case Michael wouldn't have been able to guess correctly, Seymour looked over at Michael and mouthed the name, "O-li-vi-a".

Michael hoped this phone call would put an end to all the questions he had been mulling about in his mind.

But it was only the beginning.

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_Please __review._


	6. Chapter 6

A call is answered

Chapter 6

Michael, Fi, Sam and Seymour were seated around the patio table of Seymour's elaborate pool area. No one had taken Seymour seriously when he said his girlfriend was missing.

His girlfriend was on the phone now, sounding as if nothing was wrong. The four of them, however, had seen a videotape in a motel that stated otherwise.

"Razor?"

Livvy's voice came through loud and clear on the conference call. Of course, she was unaware that Seymour was not the only one listening to her. Michael gave Seymour a nod for him to continue.

"Babycakes?" Seymour asked.

"Of course!" said Livvy, sounding so normal, "Who else? So Razor, what are ya doin' now? Where are you? I've missed you so much!"

"At my…pool," Seymour said as he watched Michael give him a hand gesture that meant keep-it-rolling, "uh…just experiencing...uh...physical enlightment while wishing you were with me."

"Everything okay? You sound kinda funny…"

Seymour looked at Michael for reassurance. Michael mouthed, "Just talk normal."

"Razor?"

"Yeah, yeah, Livvy, _Say_...I was just in meditation and I came up with this thought...uh..I hope chickens one day will be able to cross the road without people questioning their motives..."

Michael, Fi and Sam scowled at one another in puzzlement.

"Oh, Razor! That is _quite_ an enlightment! I love you so much!"

"Really? _That's_ her reaction? _Really_?" Sam whispered to Fi, "Sounds like someone just put a 'stop payment' on her reality check!"

"Sssshhh!" Fi said, "I want to hear how much zanier this conversation can get!"

As they continued listening they heard Olivia's footsteps as she spoke on the phone.

"Hold on, Raze, I'm getting a snack from the hotel vending machine."

There was a sound of a coins inserting and then a 'plop' sound. All of them could hear the lid being lifted, presumably so Olivia could get her snack.

"I _love_ snacks from vending machines!" analyzed Olivia, "Somehow stuff tastes better when it falls!"

"Babes, you're awesome!" stated Seymour.

"_An-nd..._ we're past the point of zany..." whispered back Fi.

"Yeah," agreed Sam in a low tone, "Love is usually like heaven, but this hurts like hell!"

"Raze?" Livvy was saying, "Are there people with you? I hear some background talking."

Michael put his finger to his lips to warn Sam and Fi to keep quiet.

Meanwhile Seymour was at a loss, "Uh...uh...those are the voices in my head!"

"_Again_? Oh, Razor," laughed Olivia, "You are truly the '_in_' to my _'sane'_!"

Michael needed to get this conversation back on track.

He nudged Seymour, "_Razor! Mention the video clip from your phone!"_

It was as if Seymour had just now remembered about the hotel videotape. His carefree demeanor suddenly turned solemn.

"Hey _Livvy_..." said Seymour, "One of my voices reminded me that I tried calling you earlier and you never picked up. Not cool, Babycakes. What is up with that?"

"You called? You did?" she asked, sounding surprised, "When?"

"If you have to ask, then you don't know!" he replied.

Huh? Michael, Fi and Sam looked baffled again as Olivia responded.

"I didn't hear the phone ring, Raze…oh wait!" A pause, "It does say three missed calls."

"That would be me."

"So sorry, I've been in and out attending seminars all day, I've lost sense of time. Is there something you wanted, Raze?"

"_Ask where she is staying!_" Michael nudged.

"Uh…where you staying at, Babycakes?"

"You silly! I told you already, The Ritz Carlton in Atlanta!"

Michael, Fi and Sam looked at one another, knowing Livvy was not telling the truth. That cheap motel hallway they saw in the video was definitely not the Ritz Carlton.

They heard Olivia uncomfortably clear her throat, "You sure things are okay down there? You don't sound like yourself!So you called to ask where I was staying?"

Suddenly Seymour snapped.

"No Livvy, that wasn't the reason I called! Do you want to know the freaking reason why I called? I'll tell you! I got a video call from you! A frigging upsetting video call from you, Olivia!."

Tense silence followed. Michael noted how Seymour had addressed her by her formal name.

"But I didn't call you, Razor."

"Yeah, you did! And you gave me one screwed up message!" Seymour was sounding emotional now, "I got a call from your phone, alright! OOOh you bet your divinity, I did!"

"What? What do you mean? I'm not understanding…"

"I saw you…with George!" Seymour accused. Michael was shaking his head. The conversation was getting away from him.

"George? George who, Raze? I don't know a George! I don't know who or what you are talking about!"

"Come on! I saw him following you into the hotel room! Did I say '_hotel_ room' with an 'h'? I meant 'motel room' as in cheap and sleazy! Just like your handsome, rich gigolo!"

A pause and then Livvy's response…

"Razor? Are you still there? Uh, hold on….I-I think I can explain…I think I know what happened… Remember Julie and Hector from work? They're here with me and…and you know what jokesters they are!. I remember at one point—you know how much water I drink-I had gotten up this one time to use the ladies room and …and left my cell phone at the table. They probably took it and did something to it, as a prank. They're like that, those kidders. I'm sure that's what happened. Crazy, huh?"

She was totally rambling. The four of them didn't know what to make of all these lies.

"Razor, I hope I've cleared this up for you," Olivia's voice sounded strained, "Look, I gotta go. All my love to you, all the way, Babes! We'll speak later, okay?"

"Wait an effing moment! Olivia!"

"Gotta go!" she said with forced enthusiasm, "I love you no matter what."

And then she was gone.

_I __love __you __no __matter __what. _Michael found Livvy's wording rather ominous.

Michael, Fi and Sam looked at each other. It was getting late and there was not much else they could do tonight.

Maybe tomorrow they could start off fresh. Maybe they could get a trace on the line she was calling from. Or maybe Seymour would remember a small detail he had forgotten.

Sam and Fi exchanged nods, reassuring one another that it was time to leave.

"Well, it's been grand, Razor, "said Fi, "but we should be heading out."

Sam looked at her, "Really? Two dead bodies, your boyfriend gets clocked, our client's girlfriend is missing, and you say 'it's been grand'?"

"Well, _ex-cuse __me_ for keeping things light!" Fi argued.

Michael started getting up and Seymour grabbed onto Michael's shirt.

"Michael, oh Michael! You're not leaving me, too, are you?" Seymour feared, "Like _this_? Me? All alone in this big mansion? By myself?"

"What about Alfred and your bodyguard?" Michael pointed out.

"Yeah, you have Jackass, over here, " agreed Sam as he gestured with his thumb towards Jackass, who was standing a few feet away.

Jackass, who rarely said anything, stepped up and looked indignantly at Sam.

"Did you just call me a _jackass_?" he huffed.

Sam looked at him, incredulously, "Hey! Why am I being singled out? Is there a bulls-eye on my forehead? Isn't that what everyone calls you? Isn't that your name?"

Jackass stood up taller, "My name is Jack Ash."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, "_What __the __hell_?"

"I have a lisp," Jack lowered his head in shame.

All eyes turned to look disappointedly at Sam.

"Crap," acknowledged Sam, "Now it's my fault that I can't distinguish a lisp...I'm not a speech therapist, you know!"

"Well..."said Jack Ash, "it's just that my feelings are hurt whenever you call me by that name..."

"I'm not Dr. Phil either!" half-apologized Sam "But think of it this way...Daffy Duck had a lisp and he was funny as hell AND he had Bugs Bunny as his best friend, too!"

Sensitive Jack seemed to brighten at that prospect, "I've always liked Bugs Bunny!"

Seymour, meanwhile had to convince Michael to stay overnight.

"Michael!" pleaded Seymour, "How am I to feel safe with merely an elaborate alarm, professional body guard and a whole arsenal of weapons at my disposal? You think _that_ would be enough to protect me? I mean, please, Michael!"

Fi nodded, "He's right, Michael...and this _is_ a job... right Razor? For $10,000?"

"What?" exclaimed Sam, "in _American_ money?"

Seymour nodded, "And that's for each of you, if you help me find Livvy. Because what good is money if your true love, the flashlight of your bat cave, is missing?"

"The flashlight of your what?" puzzled Sam.

Fi nudge Sam with her elbow, "Sorry, Razor, Sam is _so_ unsentimental."

"Yeah," noted Sam, "How did I ever miss the total romance of a _bat__cave?_"

Sam and Fi got up, ready to depart, but Seymour would not let Michael leave.

"Michael! I am begging you to stay here at Castle Razor just one night! That is all I ask!"

To Michael, the request to stay overnight in a mysterious mansion sounded like a plot straight out of a teen fright movie. But Seymour was viewing Michael now with misty, pleading eyes.

Fi took Michael aside.

"Michael, maybe you should!" whispered Fi, "Think of the missing Olivia! Think of Seymour! Think of my future weapon sales!"

A sniff came from Seymour.

"Allergies," he explained.

Everyone was watching Michael. As much as Michael wanted to leave, he wasn't going to go against Fi.

"I'm going to regret this..." began Michael

"Awesome! Oh! Awesome!" Seymour looked elated, as he yelled out towards the kichen, "Alfred! Put on the special mango-colored bed sheets on the bed! We are having a guest of honor tonight! It will be sooo awesome with you here! It'll be like a slumber party for men!"

Michael peered at Seymour.

"Except we all sleep in different rooms, right?"

"Oh, of course, Michael! although..."

Michael felt strange.

"Razor, there is no _although_...

"Okay," warned Seymour, "Then I won't mention to you that I sleepwalk in my skivvies."

.

The pool party had long finished, and the hired staff had gone home.

Sam and Fi were walking down the street to retrieve her car to go home.

It had been a long day.

"Well," stated Fi, "This was certainly a surprise... Seymour with a girlfriend! Talk about love is blind!"

"That famous quote never made sense to me," countered Sam, "For if love were truly blind, what would be the point of lingerie?"

Sam and Fi had been so immersed in their conversation, they did not think much of the dark blue Ford Taurus parked a ways down amid other parked cards

"You know, Sam, you're the only person I know who sounds more intelligent with his mouth shut."

"Oh, Fi, time always seem to fly when I'm with you...mostly because I zone out to what you're saying."

The engine of the Taurus was revving. The tires of the car started to angle themselves out of the spot. Then without warning, it suddenly jumped forward and cut across the street.

And headed straight for Sam and Fi.

They realized it a split second before it hit them.

"Look out, Fi!" yelled Sam as he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her off to the side.

The Taurus' tire grabbed gravel, made a screech and followed him. Fi had been deemed safe, off to the side, but Sam was right in the path of the oncoming vehicle.

_Screeeech!_

The front bumper of the car managed to hit the back of one Sam's legs before he could fully get away. A burst of pain exploded to the bone as he twirled from the impact.

Sam landed face first and managed to tuck in a roll and ended on his back.

The car was already disappearing down the street.

Fi ran up to him, "Sam! You okay?"

Sam sat up and checked his leg. Bruised hard but no break. She helped him limp safely to the curb.

"Yeah, I'm just 'grand', Fi," Sam repeated Fi's previous words.

They exchanged looks. Someone knew they were involved with this case and wanted them uninvolved.

"Did you get the license plate?" Sam asked, "I got the first two letters and the first number."

"Coincidently, I got the last three numbers," Fi stated.

They stared at each other, willing the other person to give up their information first.

"You go first, Fi."

"After you, Sam."

"No, you."

"You."

"Okay, this is ridiculous," said Sam after much debating, "on the count of three, let's each say the partial plate number we know, okay?"

"Fine," agreed Fi.

"….1…2…3…"

"Whatever"/ "Never!" shouted out Fi and Sam at the same time.

They narrowed their eyes as they faced down one another.

Spies know that at times, two opposing forces may reach an en passé. When that happens the two parties must find a viable solution that both can agree on.

_Rock, __paper, __scissors_ works as a great compromise.

.

.

_Please __review_

_(Sorry if I did not individually thanked all the reviewers like I usually do. My outbox PM delete button has never worked and I have sent over 20 emails to fanfic support and no response. My box is so full now. Anyone else have that problem? Grrr. But please feel free to continue to PM me...my inbox works perfectly, it's just the outbox. Double Grrr)_

_And Happy Holidays, everyone!_


	7. Chapter 7

Meditation with Seymour

Chapter 7

Early the next morning, Michael had washed up and was heading down the long hallway of Castle Razor.

He heard some noise coming from one of the many offshoot rooms in the mansion. Curiosity got the better of him as he silently continued walking down the hallway until he stopped at the open door. His ears picked up the chant of something like "Man" "gooooo", "Man" "goooooo" and then finally, "Mangooooooo…"

Michael looked in the doorway, into the meditation room. The light from a window spotlighted the figure of a man, who sat cross- legged, his back to Michael. The room had rich Oriental art with thick tapestries and carpets. The only thing not reflecting an ancient dynasty was the state-of-the-art home entertainment system.

The lone figure was Seymour, of course, sitting yoga-lotus style, his legs pretzeled in a position man was not built to be. In a meditation pose, both his index fingers and thumbs formed two circles, with the back of his hands resting against the knees.

New World gun dealer ideals vs. Old World Oriental zen, thought Michael, quite a contrast. He then sniffed the scented air. And was that mango incense he smelled?

Seymour breathed in for a twenty count, held it, breathed out for a twenty count. He was deep in meditation. Michael had seen enough and started to silently walk away.

"Man- goooo...Oh, oh..Man-don'-go, Michael!" he heard Seymour say, his back still facing Michael, "Come! Come join me and refresh your mind and body! Everyone's body temple needs to be enlighten before one starts the day!"

How had Seymour known Michael was even at the door? Michael wondered to himself. Whatever the reason, Michael did not want to get involved with Seymour and his mystical thoughts. He tried to get out of the situation as he stood at the doorway.

"Actually, Razor, I refreshed my mind and body before I brushed my teeth and I've already reached my place...of nirvana…after I washed my face."

_What __the __hell __was __he __saying?_

"Nonsense, Michael, come! Come and be as one with the universe! Let your yin join with my yang!"

"No Razor, my yang is fine as it is."

"But we must be balance!" insisted Seymour, "And once our yen and yang have become balanced, Alfred will whip up some homemade blueberry yogurt, some of which you have never tasted before! It will totally tantalize your taste buds like nothing else!"

Homemade blueberry yogurt? He had Michael's attention now, as Michael inched in. He stopped mid-step, however, when he viewed only one yoga mat, with Seymour already occupying it.

Oh, no thought Michael, no way would he share a mat with Seymour, homemade blueberry yogurt or not!

Seymour sensed Michael's hesitation. although he didn't understand it.

"Michael, you MUST stay to help me cope with the lost of my love! I cannot do it without you! Please sit, sit next to me, and help me de-stress!"

Michael heaved a sigh, hoping to keep the yin and yang separate. They sat side by side on the one mat, with once again Seymour invading his private space.

"See isn't this great? Just the two of us, here on this mat together?" Seymour asked.

"This isn't a date, Razor," Michael responded through clenched teeth.

"Close your eyes, Michael and connect yourself with the cosmos!"

Mike thought if he closed his eyes, he better not feel anything heavier than air touching him.

"In short, we shall explore the two parts of meditation to find total enlightenment together! Now, the first part of meditation is...reflecting, to see what lesson you have learned from the past."

Michael kept his eyes closed, "My past mistake occurred two seconds ago, and the memory is too strong. so why don't you take the lead."

"Fair enough!" "said Seymour, his eyes still shut, "Man-goo...man-goo...man-and ah! Stop the shooting stars!...The lesson I have learned in the past has been revealed to me and it is about...love!"

Michael got ready to sprint out of room.

Seymour took a deep breath in, "Michael! Listen to this: "Love is like a gun in your hand...leave it with open fingers and it means nothing, but grasp it and it'll give you a big bang!"

A quiet pause.

"Razor, maybe I'll understand the second part of meditation better."

Seymour continued, his voice sounding a bit melodic, "Already absorbed the first part? Awesome! The second part is...we must calm our inner temples with images of relaxation…Now picture it…see it in your mind…a beautiful, serene delicate antique Chinese urn sitting serenely amidst a green field of grass…"

Well, this was more like it, Michael thought, as he envisioned the opened field.

Seymour took a deep breath and with a sedated voice continued, "Then slowly…and majestically... BAM!" Michael opened his eyes, "-_the-__first-__bullet-__rips-__through__ –__the-__valuable-__piece, __shattering __it __to __pieces__…__BAM Another shot!'_

Michael turned to stare at Seymour, but Seymour was on a roll as he continued, his pace getting faster and more eratic.

"..._As- a- random- figure -runs –to- save- the –remaining- pieces- he- is- suddenly- hit –and- his- head- flies- back- at- an -astounding rate…"_

"…Uh, Razor, excuse me, Razor," interrupted Michael, "I'm not an expert in this…relaxation imagery, but shouldn't we be meditating …on an image of, oh, I don't know…a gentle waterfall, or a deer lapping water from a tranquil stream?"

That broke Seymour's concentration as he opened his eyes to look at his meditation partner.

"That is badass, Michael! Wow, a waterfall? Totally awesome pictures in my mind! I see it! I see it! Maybe the deer is flying down the rapids! Splish- freaking- Splash! His legs flailing all around! Deer can't even speak, but I bet this one will! Freaking big wild forest animal scream! This is so awesome, Michael!"

Michael just found his own meditation quote: A closed mouth gathers no foot.

Even homemade yogurt wasn't worth this, Michael surmised as he started to get up. However, he stopped when he heard a series of footsteps down the hallway.

Alfred entered the room with a tray of yogurt cups, followed by Sam and Fi.

"Oh, my, my," said Fi with a smirk, as she witnessed Seymour and Michael together on the mat, "aren't _we _cozy?"

"Ahh, Sam and Fiona!" Seymour baded them, "You must join us in our quest for enlightenment purity!"

"Enlightenment _purity_? I think _that_ train pulled out of the station _looong_ ago," Sam said with a straight face. Meanwhile, Alfred stepped forward with the tray of yogurt cups.

"Your breakfasts, Mr. Westen, Mr. Axe, Mistress Fiona, and Sir R," announced Alfred. The four helped themselves to the late breakfast snack.

Michael took his first bite, as a luscious flavor of fresh blueberries exploded in his mouth. He had never tasted anything so delicious in all his life and dammit, it involved Seymour!

"Wow!" responded Sam, looking at his yogurt in astonishment, "What flavor is mine? It's like I just made love to my mouth!"

"That, Mr. Axe," stated Alfred, "is yogurt infused with the rich flavor of pina colada."

"Alfred," asked Sam, "Will you marry me?"

"In fact, Mr. Axe, I am a confirmed bachelor" said Alfred in all sincerity, "I find that marriage is like a hot bath. Once you get used to it, it is not so hot."

Sam grinned, "So you are not of the mind that marriages are made in heaven?"

"Sir," replied Alfred, "Though other people may think a match may be made it heaven, one must keep in mind that heaven made other things too, such as tornados, thunder and hail."

"Hey! I like this guy!" announced Sam, "Alfred, can you pack some of these wise sayings and the yogurt to go?"

Fi turned towards him, surprised,

"You're actually going to start eating healthy foods like yogurt now?"

"Sure, why not Fi?" asked Sam, "The yogurt will be great to snack on while I'm waiting for my steak to cook up!"

As the four enjoyed their breakfasts, Sam and Fi updated Michael on the "run in" with the suspicious car. The car was registered to a Lenny Sanderson, a bouncer at a nightclub. As Michael looked at the ID picture that Sam had brought, it was obvious that Lenny Sanderson was the very same George Clooney they had seen on the video tape.

They now had a lead.

"Wow! A clue already! You three are just awesome!" stated an impressed Seymour, "Let me pack a few things and I will be there right with you!"

Michael gave a questioning look at Sam and Fi. Suddenly Fi seemed occupied with her fingernails and Sam was looking up at the ceiling, softly whistling. Michael sighed in frustration.

_Friends.._.Michael internalized, are they _really_ there when you need them?

"Uh, sorry, Razor," said Michael, "You'll have to sit this one out. Sam, Fi and I will check it out."

"But Livvy…" said a deflated Seymour, his eyes looking sad. Fi came over and placed her hand on his arm.

"Listen, Razor," Fi said as gently as she could, "You're too close to this investigation. You have confidence in us, right? Let us handle it!"

"That's not the point! I want to be there when the ass kicking begins!"

"Not this time, Razor," said Michael, "I'm sorry."

Seymour's face looked all rubbery as he fought with his emotions. Finally he seemed to brighten up slightly, "Okay…sure…sure," then he looked even cheerier as he enthusiastically snapped his fingers, "I think I know how I can help you!"

Uh-oh.

"You're going to give us weapons?" Fi asked hopefully.

"Even better!" Seymour said as he reached into his pants pocket. His face showed ecstasy when his hand closed upon what he had been searching for. He pulled out his hand and handed a business card to Michael.

"This will help in your quest to find my love," Seymour proudly announced.

Sam whispered in Fi's ear, _"Notice __he __didn't __say _**_true _**_love._"

Fi nodded in all seriousness, looking at Michael.

Michael accepted the business card with the –oh!god!- mango colored background. It simply stated:

_Razor's__Edge_

_(305)__555-5555_

The only other mark on the card was a circle drawn around Seymour's name and number.

"What is this?" Michael asked scowling, holding the card up for everyone to view.

"Why, that's my calling card!" stated Seymour, in a tone that implied that everyone should already know that fact, "this business card that will open doors!"

"_What_, closet doors? Let me see that!" said Sam as Michael handed it over. Sam peered at it, "Say, I get the name of number, but what does the circle signify? Something yen-ish and yang-ish?"

"Oh that!" Seymour said happily, "I put my name in a circle instead of a heart because a heart can be broken, but a circle will last forever."

Seymour looked at Michael.

"You know what I mean, Michael?"

"Oh...uh...thanks...Razor," said Michael as he pocketed the card.

"Don't forget to keep it close to your heart."

"He will with every ass that he kicks," said Fi obviously touched by Seymour's kind gesture.

Seymour's smile turned to one of excitement as he was reminded of something.

"Oh! oh!, Wait! No need to leave empty handed without snacks!" Seymour said, as he turned to his manservant, "Alfred, pack some yogurts to go for my friends! Get Jack Ash to help you! And while you are at it, throw in some other kick ass snacks! They'll need their energy when they face the karma-less baddies! Pack...let's see...some cornbread, then some bread! And also corn!"

"Wait, hold on there, Razor…" Sam began "Cornbread? And then _bread __and __corn_?"

"Is there a problem with my selection?" questioned Seymour, "You do realize that they are three separate food items? "

"Yeah, but..."

"But what, Awesome- man?" asked Seymour, blinking quickly.

Michael, Fi and even Alfred turned to look at Sam.

"Oh crap...just...just cancel my subscription to Seymour Magazine, because I don't want your issues!"

"Wow! Great line" said Seymour, "I guess someone else meditated this morning!"

"Meditated or medicated?" asked Fi.

…AND SO BEGINS THEIR ADVENTURE, AT LAST...

.

.

Look out, as the mood of the story will slightly switch next chapter!

_Please __review_…


	8. Chapter 8

Nightclubbing, Team Westen style

Chapter 8

The hottest nightclubs were located in South Beach. _The Vagabond_ was a favorite among club-goers, which catered exclusively to the fun-loving, beautiful rich people.

It was located in a non-descript building, with nothing to signify the place as a business. That's when a person knows it is a swanky nightclub. People only knew of this place from word of mouth.

Michael, Fi and Sam entered the elevator, along with other people, that took them to the third floor. As soon as the doors slid opened, they could feel the music's deep bass sounds vibrating through the walls.

The long queue of desperate wanna-enters were seen immediately.

Most who stood in a line were soon rejected, considered not cool enough to "sit at the popular kids' table." They were passed up by other attractive people in line referred to as VIPs, who walked passed them without a glance back.

And of course there was the ubiquitous velvet rope. It was guarded by two steroid-stuffed bouncers with matching shiny heads and no nonsense expressions. Both wore black Ed Hardy t-shirts.

Michael, Fi and Sam walked up towards the front of the line to see if the bouncers would allow them to go in.

"Sam, ignore those clubbing females standing in line," advised Fi, "and stay close to us."

Sam was proudly beaming.

"_Why_, Fi," asked Sam, "Are you afraid that a tasty morsel like me would be eaten up alive by all these mini-skirted, party-lovin' babes? Is that why I should stay close to you?"

"Actually, I'm afraid you wouldn't get in otherwise," responded Fi casually.

The two bouncers merely glared as the three approached them. Before they could get a word out, one of the bouncers looked arrogantly at Sam.

"Nice outfit," Bouncer #1 sneered to Sam, "you on your way to a surfing convention?"

He elbowed his partner while pointing to Sam's Hawaiian shirt. But Sam did not look bothered at all.

"Oh, are you talking about little old me?" asked Sam, feigning surprise, "And here I thought I wouldn't even be noticed! Thank you for making me the center of your world, buddy."

Bouncer #1 looked at the three with disdain while the other one folded his arms, as if he were blocking the entrance.

"I think this would be an excellent chance for you to become a missing person, Asshole."

Bouncer #2 snickered at his friend's remark, but once again, Sam stood his ground.

"What an irony..." commented Sam to the closest bouncer.

The bouncer narrowed his eyes at Sam, "What do you mean?"

"That if the roles were reversed and you were on my side of the rope, the two of you would not be allowed into this exclusive nightclub; yet instead of feeling empathy for the rejected, you overcompensate by acting like ass-clowns!"

Mike was already shaking his head in an adamant gesture of no.

The two bouncers didn't even blink as they exchanged looks and stepped closer to Sam.

"Looks like we have a comedian in the bunch," Bouncer #1 challenged.

"Yeah, a comedian that won't be allowed in," Bouncer #2 added.

"A comedian, you say? Actually, I consider myself more a talented vocalist," deadpanned Sam, "not a dry eye in the house after I perform."

The two bouncers were not amused.

"Look," said Mike breezily, as he took out a one hundred dollar bill, "we're just out to have a good time... how 'bout being a sport?"

Bouncer #2 accepted the bill and then ripped it in front of them, "Your money's no good here."

This was not good. They had to get in to find Lenny Sanderson. He was the only connection in finding Seymour's Olivia.

"Yeah, you want to be entertained?" asked Bouncer #1, "The three of you could just f*ck yourselves in a closet."

At the sound of the word "closet", something clicked in Fi's mind. _Sam __had __stated __that __Seymour's __business __card __opened __closet __doors_. Fi reached into Michael's jacket pocket.

"What, Fi—" Michael began, but stopped when she had pulled out the mango-colored business card.

"Perhaps this is better than money..." Fi said, as she hopefully displayed Seymour's business card to the two bouncers.

Bouncer #1's whole face lit up.

"Shit! _You __didn't __say __you __knew __Razor! __Hey, __Muck, __did __you __see? __They __know __Raze!_"

Michael, Fi and Sam tried to hide their stunned looks.

"What?" asked Bouncer #2, "You three are friends... of _Razor_?"

He said the name as if he revered it.

"Only...if it will...help to get us in," Michael stated tentatively, as he watched Bouncer #2 remove the velvet rope.

"Have a nice time…" Bouncer #1 stated sincerely with a smile.

The three walked in, a little dazed at the welcoming reception, as they left the crowd of wanna-be's behind.

"Wow!" whispered Sam as he grabbed the business card back and gave it a hard look, "This is like the Golden Ticket from Seymour Wonka's Chocolate Factory!"

The booming of the music became louder as they entered the main room. The club was dark with neon accents. They could make out dancing shadows throughout the floor. There were large-screen TVs all displayed on the walls.

"What is the purpose of all these TV screens?", stated Sam sardonically, "Because...as you know, if you're clubbing the night away, what you really want to do is watch TV."

Fi just stared at him, "Sam, the way you think makes your Hawaiian shirt look suitable for this place."

Sam straighten up his shirt, "Hey, I base my fashion sense on what doesn't itch, alright?"

"You and the word _itch_ should _never_ be in the same sentence," concluded Fi.

"_Guys_," interrupted Michael, "We have a job to do, remember?"

All three continued watching the floor for any sign of Lenny Sanderson.

In the background, the DJ was playing "house music. There was a laser after he added some kind of synthesized bass or electronic beat. It didn't matter what he did. People were there to be seen and to dance. It was standing room only on the dance floor. The men looked sharp and cool, with their designer jackets while the ladies looked tempting with their clingy dresses.

The music was booming in their ears. More bodies quickly multiplied on the dance floor as the music seemed to get louder.

"Perhaps we should separate!" Michael yelled above the noisy fray, "We can cover more area to find him!"

"What?" both Sam and Fi shouted over the loud music, as they stood together.

Suddenly someone from the dancing crowd was shoved into Sam and Fi. This made Fi stumble into a biker-looking chick with a leather shirt and boots.

"Ouch, B*tch!" BikerChick said, "Watch yourself!"

Fi looked indignant, as she stood tall.

"Uh-oh" said Sam, looking around for Mike. who had already disappeared into the crowd.

"**_I_** watch _myself_? listen you…" Fi began, forcing Sam to grab onto her arm to hold her back from BikerChick.

"That's her way of saying 'sorry,'" apologized Sam, before he turned to Fi and insisted, "Fi! _Let it go_!"

"Hey!" boomed a new voice, a guy with spiky hair, "You giving my girl a hard time?"

Fi glared at BikerChick as she spoke to SpikyHair,"Normally I would ignore it, for everyone's entitled to be stupid, but she's abusing the privilege!"

Spikey Hair was headed towards Fi but Sam intercepted, pitting himself in the middle.

The dance crowd had started to separate to form a circle around the adversaries. Meanwhile in another part of the dance floor, Michael sensed the change in the mood of the crowd and turned around in time to see trouble brewing with his friends. He quickly double-backed to where Sam and Fi were.

The intimidaters in the group were four young dudes with combed-back hair and faux tans, long chains and tank tops who could have been rejects from Jersey Shores, plus BikerChick. When Michael reached the inner circle, someone from that same group pushed him from behind.

The four Jersey Shore guys all looked ready to show what men they were in defending BikerChick.

"We don't want trouble," said Michael plainly, but there was an underlying threatening tone to it.

The four Jersey Shore dudes looked at one another with a tough sneer. They could see they outnumbered Michael, Fi and Sam. One of the four walked up to Michael with that "Fonzie" stroll.

Without a word uttered, Michael quickly saw a fist heading towards his face.

Usually when people see a fist coming towards them, they overreact. They try to duck all the way down or fall all the way back.

Spies know overcompensating to defend oneself is a mistake. If you lose your balance or lose sight of your opponent, you end up in more danger. Spies will often just throw blows not to make a connection, but to make the enemy put himself in a more vulnerable position.

So Michael's move to avoid the blow was to move only a few inches. His right hand was already up. He wasn't going to punch hard. He just needed to slightly divert the course of the other guy's fist.

Michael's goal was to put this guy down with a minimum of fuss or injury. He redirected the traveling fist by flipping his hand up.

Then with that same hand already up, he put his index and middle finger together and jabbed a 'dart blow' right at the soft hollow area of Jersey Boy's throat. The hit was spot on. Jersey Boy made a gurgling sound as both his hands instinctly flew to his throat.

Meanwhile someone had grabbed Sam's shoulder. Sam brushed it off, but JerseyBoy #2 dived for Sam's legs, attempting to bring him down.

Spies are taught that when going up against an opposing force that is younger and stronger, the best alternative is to go with the flow and meet him halfway.

Sam bent his knees. He then used one hand for balance on the floor. With the other, he tucked his fingers down and delivered a palm strike to the guy's nose. The guy let go of Sam's legs as the guy yelped in pain. Then Sam came up and gave a punch right to the shoulder-grabbing JerseyBoy who folded like a Chinese fan.

The last Jersey Boy and BikerChick went after Fi.

When fighting, a spy must always..._but wait_...Fi was not a spy.

Fi never understood this "finesse" way of fighting, of trying to fight just enough to keep the adversary unbalanced. All she knew about fighting was to give it your best, go all the way; never give the opponent a fighting chance, so to speak.

What had started out as a confrontation developed into a brawl. The confusion spread like wild fire and soon there were screaming and yelling coming from all angles of the room. The music had stopped as everyone in the room was made aware of the fight.

Fi had already elbowed Biker Chick, giving her a bloodied nose and had roundhouse kick the last of the Jersey Boys. She looked around the dance floor now, trying to spot Sanderson, but could not get a view, for all she could see was silhouetted bodies going this way and that.

"Look over at two o-clock!" Sam was heard to say somewhere above the din of the crowd, "I think I see Sanderson!"

Michael's voice could be heard but it was intelligible.

Fi could no longer see Sam or Michael. They had gotten lost in the shuffle. Shadows were running in all directions. Chaos ensured, as everyone fled, shocked and scared.

"Crap, I hate when we break up a good party!" Sam was heard to say in the crowd.

Meanwhile, they continued searching for Sanderson and for each other. Trouble did not phase them, for this seemed to be a common occurrence in their lives .

Unfortunately, trouble was not fleeing them, but instead, it was headed in their direction.

.

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_(Personal note to Jedi Way: Your reviews make me happy!)_

_Please __review_


	9. Chapter 9

A shocking night

Chapter 9

The pounding music had stopped as the nightclub became a cacophony of confusion.

Anytime there is a large accumulation of people, all actions become contagious. One person starts screaming and soon many people are yelling. Somebody trips and after awhile, many bodies will topple. That is how chaotic panic starts and spreads so very quickly.

Spectators who had been in relative safety on the outskirts were now part of the mayhem as the disorderly fracas widened and people were crashing into one another to get out. Random punches were being thrown.

Pandemonium was everywhere.

Within this crazy turmoil, with everyone being pushed this way and that, Michael, Fi and Sam had somehow become separated from one another.

Michael was now isolated in a sea of panicky bodies. A random person hit him in his back. He was being pushed left and right. Someone stepped on his foot. There seemed to be bodies and noises surrounding him everywhere.

Michael felt a finger poking him from behind. When Mike twisted around, someone had purposely hit him in the midsection. Michael instinctively reacted and grabbed the man's wrist.

Michael snapped the attacking wrist with a strong yank. He heard a moan. Pulling the man towards him, Michael threw a forearm into the man's face as he felt other blows from behind. The man had gone down.

Michael looked left and then right to try and find the escape route but screaming, moving bodies were everywhere. Some of the people had fallen.

"_Help me!_"_ "No!" Heeeelp!"_ Random strangers were yelling out.

Michael doubled-back to help people from being trampled. Some people needed aid getting up, others needed assistance as they limped to the door. Michael found himself helping one, and then going back to lend a hand to others. He had to continually go against the stream of people and it was exhausting him.

More screams, more panic, more helpless people to save.

.

Meanwhile in the ensuing commotion, Sam and Fi had been pushed along with the crowd toward the exit doors.

Fi caught a glimpse of Sam.

"Sam!" she yelled as she tried to reach out, amid the screaming crowd of people.

"Fi!" Sam bellowed back.

He felt himself being pushed away from her. By forcing himself against the crowd, fighting his way against the majority horde, he was finally able to reach Fi's hand by holding his arm up high. Fi had to go up on her toes in order to grasp his hands.

Their hands had been joined despite anonymous bodies between them, pushing them out one of the exit doors. They could already hear the sounds of police sirens in the background.

The minute they were in a safe zone, Sam and Fi quickly yanked their hand away and looked sheepishly away. Fi rubbed her palm against her dress. Over and over again. Like Sam had cooties or something.

The gesture did not escape Sam's notice.

"Hey, sister, I should be the one doing the wiping! It wasn't MY hand that was all cold and clammy," claimed Sam with a look of indignation.

"You've got a lot of room to talk, " Fi rebounded, "At first I thought I was holding onto a trout."

Fi looked all around.

Most of the people had started to leave, so it was easy to see that the person she was seeking was not among the loitering people here.

The two original bouncers were outside and they were not allowing anyone back in the dance area. Other security personnel and police had arrived and they were instructing everyone to go home.

The crowd was slowly and peacefully dispersing.

Fi determinedly walked back towards the entrance of the nightclub, intent on getting Michael. The two bouncers blocked her from entering.

"Let me back inside," she simply stated.

She moved left, she moved right. The bouncers did not budge.

"Forget it, Lady. No one is allowed back in there." one of the bouncers announced decisively.

Fi ignored him and pitched forward. Two different bouncers immediately converged on her, each grabbing one of her arms as she started to struggle.

"Let go of me!" she said indignantly.

Sam immediately went to Fi's aid.

"Fi, what are you doing?" he wanted to know.

"_Michael is still in there_!" screamed Fi to Sam. She stomped on the foot of one of the bouncers. He yelped in pain and held her even tighter, pinching her arm hard. Fi seemed oblivious to the pain.

"You're crazy, lady!" yelled one of the bouncers, "Everyone is out! I checked inside myself!"

"You're wrong, _WRONG!_" yelled back an emphatic Fi.

Sam was trying to get the bouncers off of Fi.

"Hey! You muscle-heads, you! " yelled Sam, "Let go of her! Can't you tell the lady is having a bad night? Right now she's probably feels like rubbing all your faces against a cheese grater!"

"That's right, Sam! " cried out Fi, still struggling, "And for these thugs...that would be an improvement over their current looks!"

One of the bouncers kicked Fi hard. She did not give any sign of giving up as she still tried to move forward. Another bouncer punched Sam in the stomach to stop him from interceding.

After Sam recovered from the blow, he realized he was getting nowhere with the bouncers; perhaps it would be best to concentrate his efforts on Fi.

"Fi! Stop! They'll just hurt us more!" Sam insisted, slightly heaving from the hit, "Let it go! Michael could more than handle himself in there!"

"Sam! Don't you get it?" Fi yelled, "He's just not in there with a bunch of these steroid-brained bouncers! MICHAEL IS IN THERE WITH SANDERSON AND _HIS_ GOONS!"

She flung herself at the bouncers and another security person was needed to subdue her.

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A little time earlier, inside the nightclub, the last of the crowd had been rushing to exit. The injured had been taken out, thanks to Michael. He himself, had been battered and bruised, and now he looked around for a means to leave.

He sensed danger.

Looking behind him in the darkened room, he suddenly saw three silhouetted shadows coming towards him. When they were close enough, he realized they were bouncers.

And in the middle was Lenny Sanderson.

"Get him! Get him!" he heard Sanderson yelling, "He's the trouble-maker!"

The first bouncer that reached Michael tried the full nelson-double shoulder lock, but Michael calmly slipped out of it.

"Listen, I'm not the—" Michael started, before he was tackled by the two anonymous bouncers.

Michael hit the floor with a thud, his stomach touching the hardness of the ground. One of the guys on top of him tried to put his forearm on Michael's throat. Michael only had to tuck his chin in, blocking the access to the vulnerable area.

Obviously these guys were not interested in listening to what Michael had to say. For some strange reason, they wanted to do him harm. Michael figured that Sanderson had something to do with that.

Michael managed with the last of his remaining strength to roll away, catching one of the guy's face with his elbow. The man cursed and backed off as Michael slipped away from the other one.

As Michael started to rise, he found himself face to face with George Clooney, aka Lenny Sanderson.

Sanderson looked Michael right in the eyes.

"You are _so_ f*cked up now," Sanderson sneered.

Before Michael knew what was happening, he felt Sanderson push something hard and metallic against the bottom of his ribcage. Then there was this buzzing noise.

Electricity coursed through his body. Michael' heart exploded, or at least it felt like it did. His legs turned to water as his arms dropped away from his body.

A stun gun.

Michael collapsed to the ground, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. He looked like a freaked-out fish out of water as he flopped all over the floor. At one point he managed to look up and Sanderson had a malicious grin on him.

Then Sanderson bent down and delivered another two million volts to a helpless Michael.

Michael's body erupted with vicious jolts as he started to see blackness. As his body continued thrashing, he could hear one of the other bouncers attempting to stop the torturing.

"Enough! Sandy! It's overkill!"

Michael's body had almost stopped with the shaking, but he felt his insides were turned to liquid. He had stopped reacting, stopped thinking.

After a while, he felt someone lifting him up like a sack of rice. By now his eyes were closed and his body was limp. He was on the verge of unconsciousness, but not quite.

His nerve endings were gone. It was as if he was separated from his body. His body would sporadically give uncontrollable jerks, although he felt no strength in his body.

He had lost use of his body parts, but his mind was remained sharp. He was too tired to resist. All he could think of now was that he needed time to recover, to regroup and come up with a plan.

A door opened and closed as he felt some light through his closed lids. They had taken him into a small room.

Michael continued to pretend he was totally blacked out. He knew he could not overcome three strong bulky men, especially in his state, but there was no way Sam or Fi would be able to find him in this enclosed room. He felt himself being thrown on a long table. His body hit the metal surface hard. The coldness of the metal seemed to seep through his shirt and jacket.

Michael had never felt so helpless before.

He needed Sam and Fi's help. Michael's eyes were still closed as his hand slowly inched towards the cell phone in his pocket.

Previously, when Michael needed to covertly contact Fi or Sam, he would speed-dial one of their numbers and when one of them would pick up, he would put the phone on mute. This allowed either one to hear what was going on and then they could rush in to help.

That was then.

Michael had since modified his cell phone unit.

He had skillfully taken the covert-contact-by-cell phone idea and brought it up to a whole new level. The enhanced cell phone now had a special two-way satellite radio with a recording device, along with a GPS tracker. All three could be activated with the push of a button.

Michael just had to push that button.

Still keeping his eyes closed, Michael faked a groan so that he could just move enough to get his hand closer to his pocket. He needed to get to his cell phone and activate the GPS system so Sam and Fi could find him. As his hand reached in, his mind registered a horrifying thought.

His pants pocket was empty.

"Looking for this?" Sanderson's voice asked, through the haze in Michael's mind.

Michael had no choice but to open his eyes. He looked around the barren room. The enclosed room had no windows, no way for the outside to know what was going on in here.

It took some time for Michael's eyes to adjust to the three reprehensible men who stood around the table, sucking in all the good, clean air from the room.

At last, Michael's eyes finally focused on Sanderson, and when he did, he did not like what he saw.

Sanderson was hovered over Michael with a smirk plastered on his face.

In his upheld hand was Michael's cell phone.

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	10. Chapter 10

Stunned

Chapter 10

Michael's was in no shape to fight, all strength zapped from him by the stun gun, as he lay on the hard table, surrounded by the three bouncers.

Sanderson was holding up Michael's only hope of help—Michael's cell phone.

And in his other hand he showed the stun gun.

Michael tried to look unfazed, but his whole body internally trembled at the sight of the weapon.

"So"… Michael asked, his voice sounding weak and shaky as he looked up at his three captives, "am I here...for a...reason?"

"Oh, we know all about you, Westen; you and your connection to your _boyfriend,_ Seymour…"

Michael tried to sit up, but somehow he could not get his body to cooperate. He therefore remained in a prone position, which made it difficult to look imposing.

He forced his head to shake back and forth in denial, before he replied, "Nooo, Seymour and I…we are mere a-cquaintances."

Michael didn't even know why he was making a deal over some trite matter when his life was at stake. Somehow he just didn't want Seymour to be the first person they contact if he di-...well, if anything happened to him.

Sanderson tsked tsked.

"You and Seymour, mere acquaintances? I don't think acquaintances get invited to exclusive parties nor stay overnight at his mansion. No, the only person—besides you—that got those special privileges was his girlfriend, O-li-vi-a. All I can say is, that is a very interesting threesome there. "

"You seem... to know everything...except the truth." Michael couldn't help the groan that escaped from his lips.

There was a reason Michael seemed to be prolonging the conversation. The longer he talked, the more time Michael had to recover, "I don't understand...why I am here."

"Because, " Sanderson said as he held up the stun gun for Michael to see and turned it on. Michael eyes got large and his body shook in response to the familiar buzzing sound, "you are going to tell us where it is."

"Where _what_ is?" Michael scowled.

"Oh? You're not playing dumb with me, are you?"

Sanderson reached down and jammed 100,000 volts of electricity into Michael's nervous system.

_Buzzzzzzzz_

Michael's already exhausted body convulsed uncontrollably. But Michael would not give Sanderson the pleasure of hearing or seeing him in pain. He gritted his teeth and managed to only let one small moan as the electrical pulses decimated his insides.

At last the torture ended but Michael's body was still shaking.

"Tell me where it is NOW!" Sanderson insisted.

"Damn, Sandy!" exclaimed one of the bouncers, "Go easy! he's already been given a lot of that juice."

"Shut up or you'll be next!" Sanderson yelled as he rammed the gun into Michael again. Anger seemed to bring out his sadistic tendencies as he dove into Michael's body agian.

_Buzzzzzzzz_

Usually one-half second would be enough to incapacitate an opponent, but Sanderson pushed the stun gun against Michael's body for a good 20 seconds, giving Michael more intense pain and muscle contractions.

It felt like millions of tiny needles were going through his body while at the same time someone else was hitting his bones one hundred times over.

And Sanderson's smirk told Michael that he was enjoying it all.

"Enough! Sandy! You're _killing_ the guy!" Michael heard a voice exclaim, but it sounded so distant.

But Michael's hopes were annulled when he heard the guy add, "Give _us_ a chance! You're taking all the fun out of it!"

At last, Sanderson stopped and Michael felt his insides had all been liquid-fied.

Sanderson held out Michael's cell phone again, "You do see now that I mean business, don't you? I'm giving you one last chance before we use your phone to call the coroner's office!"

At this point, Michael felt death could not feel as bad as he was feeling now. But he would not let Sanderson know how much this was affecting him.

"Sor-ry..." said Michael, breathing hard, "...but my cell phone doesn't have... the coroner's number on speed dial."

That comment produced an evil chuckle from Sanderson.

"I like funny guys," he grinned maliciously.

"Really...because I'm not...your type," Michael managed to get out, "I'm not... inflatable."

Sanderson heard snickering from his men and did not like it. The grin disappeared. He got serious again.

"If the stun gun didn't do you permanent damage, my boys here," said Sanderson, indicating his two buddies, "are well trained in the art of persuasion."

The two bouncers inched closer too. They physically flexed their hands. One cracked his neck.

Michael, in his tired-weary shape, could not even make an expression as he watched the first one removing his jacket. The bouncer smiled maliciously at the way Michael was focused on him.

"You like watching me take off my jacket, eh, guy?" the bouncer joked as his friend chuckled, "This is so I won't get blood stains on my new jacket,"

Delay them, Michael thought. He need time.

Michael shakily pointed downward at the guy's body, "So ...what about... removing... your pants, too?"

The third guy tried to hide his snickering.

Michael tried to sit up again, but it failed. Sanderson took pleasure in seeing Michael's inability to move. He was contemplating sending even more volts through Michael's body.

Sanderson's expression told Michael he was in for another jolt.

Michael knew his body could not take much more. He would do anything to distract him. Michael slowly turned to face Sanderson, his arm trembling as he pointed to his phone.

"My phone..." Michael's voice was weak, "Please...just...toss it... back to me...nice and easy."

Sanderson guffawed. Westen's either losing his grip, or trying to be a wise guy, he thought.

"And why would I ever to that, Westen?"

Michael, closed his eyes and swallowed, before opening them again.

"I...just...need it..."

Sanderson glared at Westen, as he hid the phone behind his back, away from Michael' view. He had figured out why Westen wanted his phone.

"...And why is your damn phone so important, Westen? " he asked, "You've got some fancy _doo-dad_ built into it?...something where...let me guess... the phone will _triangulate_ your location to your friends, eh?"

"No...no..." Michael tried to sound definite.

But from Westen's expression, Sanderson knew he had hit the nail on the head, and he was losing patience.

"You think I'm an _idiot_?" Sanderson barked, "Forget about the damn phone, Westen! You've got other things to worry about..._now_, where's that damn video?"

A _video_, Michael thought, hmmm...

"Look, just..." Michael said slowly, "I'll tell you...whatever you want to know...just push the button "one" for me. It'll help...uh... save my batteries."

This time Sanderson chuckled.

He looked at Michael, thinking how weak and stupid this so-called great spy was. How this idiot ever survived intense interrogation was beyond him.

"Is that so? The button "one"? Thanks for telling me, Westen."

Sanderson brought forward the phone so Michael could see it. Michael's eyes lit for a second when he saw Sanderson's finger going towards the raised numbers. Midway, Sanderson stopped.

Sanderson gave his buddies a smirk as his finger hovered over the number one button.

"You said the 'one' button, right, Westen?" Sanderson asked.

Michael watched Sanderson's finger, waiting and watching.

Sanderson's finger then made a quick right as he pushed the '**off'** button of Michael's cell phone instead.

_The screen went black as all the lights on his cell phone were turned off._

"Oops! Silly me…" He sneered, "…_now..._ as you were saying?"

His two buddies chuckled and elbowed one another, having a grand time. Sanderson was sneering at Michael, wanting to see the look of total surrender in his eyes.

But Sanderson's mocking expression fell.

The extra time had allowed Michael time to slightly recover. With effort, Michael was able to sit up and cross his hands. Sanderson was not getting the reaction he had expected.

"What the f*ck, Westen?" Sanderson said, as he showed him the darkened phone, "Did you just see what I did with your phone?"

Michael surprisingly did not look concern.

"You were right about improvements to my phone," Michael stated to Sanderson, his voice a little stronger, "I added a GPS feature. A tape recorder. A two-way satellite radio. And it all works with a push of a button."

Sanderson looked questionably at his two underling as they shrugged their shoulders.

Sanderson then showed Michael the darkened display on his cell phone again, as he spoke slower.

"Hel_-looo._ Your phone... is... in... _off..._ mode. Game over."

Sam's voice boomed through the speaker of Michael's cell phone.

"No, you're quite wrong, there, dunce buddy," Sam was saying, "Michael programmed it so that all the features are activated by the '_off_' button."

"What?" Sanderson was now staring blankly at the phone. Michael now spoke into the unit. The other two bad guys' jaws dropped.

"Sam, Fi, how far away are you two?"

A female voice responded, loud and clear.

"Right outside the door, Michael," stated Fi, "the GPS signal came on quickly... I even had time to get my toys from the car."

"Toys?" asked one of the bouncers, "What does she mean by-"

"...Better protect your heads, boys," Michael warned, as he brought his head to his knees and covered his head with his hands.

The air seemed filled with silent tension, the quiet before the storm.

"_W-what's happening_?" asked Sanderson, looking around, confused, "What the fu-"

_**KA-BOOOM!**_

An explosion could be heard as the door was forced open and it hit the floor with a giant thud. Dust flew all over as Sam and Fi entered the room with sniper rifles.

"Hold it right there, enemy Buddies!" yelled Sam through the explosion.

But Sanderson had brandished something from his pocket. Using his other hand, he pulled the pin and rolled it down on the floor, near Sam's foot.

"Look out, Sam!" said Fi, recognizing the object.

It was a smoke canister.

Sam backed away as quickly as possible.

A thick cloud of smoke emitted from the cylindrical tube, creating a smoke screen for their escape. The three bouncers were able to quickly exit.

"Forget about them! Let's get Michael!" Fi yelled.

Sam and Fi rushed to the table. Fi tried not to show concern as she noted how exhausted Michael looked.

"Michael!" rushed Fi, "Can you walk out on your own?"

As much as Michael hated to admit it, he shook his head, "I don't have full control of my legs yet, Fi."

Sam slung his weapon over his shoulder, "No prob, Mikey...come on...up you go!"

Sam helped Michael off the table and then he hoisted Michael's arm over his shoulder while Fi took the other side.

They practically dragged Michael out of the room. Smoke had filled the room, sending the three of them out coughing.

It felt good to breathe regular air as they evacuated the tiny room and entered the main nightclub room. Michael, Fi and Sam were coughing up the last of the effects of the smoke bomb. Sam and Fi led Michael to a chair so he could rest.

Sanderson and his two goonies were nowhere to be found.

"Dammit, I can't believe we let them escape." Michael said disappointingly.

"From the way you look, buddy," Sam surmised, "I think you were just lucky to get outta there alive."

"Well, they won't be alive for long!" interjected Fi emphatically. She held up her weapon, "Let's annihilate them now!"

_R-r-ring!_

Michael's cell phone suddenly rang.

Sam looked over at the call ID on the screen, "Michael, it's the Gun-Muppet."

"Seymour?" Michael questioned as he reached out for his phone. He put the phone towards his ear as Seymour's nervous voice came through the speaker.

"Michael! Michael!" It was definitely Seymour.

"Uh, yes?"

"It's Razor."

"Uh, yes, I'm...rather busy now...?"

"Michael, please, you must come back!"

"Oh geez," said Sam teasingly, "I thought you broke it off with him!"

"He _is_ rather needy, isn't he?" added Fi.

Michael gave both of them a look, before continuing the conversation, "Razor, this really isn't a good time..."

"Michael! Fate has intervened! Destiny has come to my doorstep! Come quick!" insisted Seymour, "I just had contact from Livvy's uncool boyfriend/ kidnapper, George Clooney!"

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	11. Chapter 11

A visitor

Chapter 11

It was very early morning when Michael reached Seymour's place. Sam and Fi decided to stay behind at the nightclub to see if they could flush out Sanderson and his goons.

"Michael! Oh! Michael! At last you're freaking here!" Seymour looked relieved and overjoyed when he greeted him at the door, his arms outstretched.

"Please, Razor, uh… spies don't hug," said Michael, as he walked in past him.

If Michael thought he was going to offend Seymour, he would be wrong.

"Wow, Michael, I get it! I get it!" said Seymour with a wink, as he put his arms down, "Toughen me up like a real spy! I can dig the boot camp spy tactics! Thanks for the evolutionary ass-kicking enlightenment! I love it!"

They walked from the foyer into the meditation room.

"Where's Jack? Alfred?" Michael asked, looking around, actually missing Seymour's helpers.

"Alfred's off to bed in another wing, of course!" explained Seymour, "As for Jack, I gave him some time off! I figured having you here is like having the entire badass National Guard here watching over me! Amazing, huh? Just us two cool spies here..._all alone_!"

Michael almost choked.

"Okay…Razor…so what is this about you hearing from 'George'?"

Suddenly Seymour's expression fell at the mention of that name.

"Oh Michael! It was awful what he said on the phone! Just freaking awful! He had an awesomely _ugly_ voice, too! I bet _your_ voice could easily ass-kick his horrid-sounding voice! His was like a foghorn to your sleek- sailboat- gliding- through- the- calm- waters voice! I would just LOVE to hoist your sails!"

Michael sighed. His body was already exhausted and now Seymour's inconsequential ocean image was making his mind dizzy. He tried to concentrate on what Seymour was saying.

"I hate that George!" Seymour was going on, "Why, if I were in a plane crash, I'd send a "Wish you were here" card to him! Yeah I would, and..."

"Calm down, Razor, and tell me about the phone call itself," Michael suggested.

"But Michael..."

"Razor..." Michael knew Seymour liked spy terminology, "consider this a 'debriefing.'"

Seymour nodded seriously, "Oooh! a debriefing? Yeah, let's debrief each other!"

"What? ...no, Razor...a debriefing is not...no...just _stop._.."

"Oh?" asked Seymour, looking puzzled, "So, you're _not_ going to interrogate me to assess the awesome information I am about to give you?"

"Well, actually yes, Razor, but..."

Seymour looked concerned at Michael, "_No_, then _yes_? Did the bad guys hurt your head, too, Michael?"

This. Is. Not. Going. Well.

Michael held up his hand and spoke while Seymour remained quiet.

"Let's debrief by starting with his real name. It's Lenny Sanderson."

Seymour nodded, a look of pure joy on his face.

"George Lenny Sanderson? Aw_esome!_ Even when doing research, you're so badass!"

Michael sighed. This was taking forever.

Fortunately, however, Seymour pulled out a mini-recorder.

"You know what, Michael? Instead of telling you the conversation, why don't I just play the freaking conversation for you?"

Michael looked surprised.

"Y-you taped the _entire_ conversation?"

Seymour's face fell.

"Did I freaking do something wrong, Michael? Should I have only taped _half_?"

"No, uh, no, Razor, you did the right thing," assured Michael.

Seymour's face then lit up again.

"Oh! Huge cotton balls in the sky! Did I do right by you? Michael, I'm learning, man, I'm learning!"

"Yes...Okay, Razor, let's hear it."

Seymour pushed the button of the recorder and for a few seconds there was static, then,

"…_Hey, __Sey-mour!_…" said an unrecognizable gruff voice, "_guess __what __I __am __doing __to __your __GIRLFRIEND __now_…"

Even Michael felt goose bumps over the cruelty of the greeting. Michael watched as Seymour's eyes filled with hurt. And then the voice spoke some more.

_"__…__Seymour, __speak __up, __I __know __you're __there, __you __coward!"_

"_Who __the freaking __hell __are __you?_" Seymour was heard to say. _"And you know what? You're... mean! __And __why __did __you __take __away __my __Livvy?"_

"_Take __her __away? __Are __you __kidding? __She __just __won't __stop __doing __me. __I'm __like __her __addiction, __you __know?"_

_(There w__as __a __malicious __chuckle.)_

Michael glanced over at Seymour who was actually having difficulty breathing. This made Michael turn off the recorder until Seymour recovered. For the first time, he felt sorry for Seymour. Even gun-running yogurt-making gurus had feelings.

"Razor..." Michael began.

"My god, my god" stated Seymour, his eyes filled with hurt, "I need to turn to the inner landscape of my evolving self!"

Seymour closed his eyes and looked as though he were in meditation. Michael bit his lip in contemplation. Seymour may be strange, but he had feelings nevertheless. At least Seymour could find inner peace through his meditation.

When Seymour's eyes had opened and normal breathing had resumed, Michael turned the recorder back on. From the speaker of the recorder, Seymour's voice could be heard.

"_When __I __find __you, __George,"_Seymour threatened in the recording_,__"I __am __going __to __kick __your __ass __to __the __high __heavens_!"

So much for the idea of inner peace.

The other voice replied.

_"Who __the __hell i__s __this __George __character? __You bi-polar __or __something', __crazy __guy?"_

_"Bi-polar? No I'm not cold!" _insisted Seymour_, "What __do __you __want __from __me, George? __Guns? __Money? Smoothies?"_

_"None of that, Seymour__! __You __know __what __I __want! __I'd __asked __your __Livvy, __but __she __doesn't __want __to __talk__, __if __you __know __what I __mean...Oops,__what __do __ya __know__… __I __gotta __go__…__Livvy, __is __coming __back __to __give __me __more __of __her __sweet __honey!"_

And then he was gone.

The call ended. Seymour was still staring at it before he looked over at Michael, sadness showing in his eyes.

"Did you hear that, Michael?"

"Yes, I'm sorry you had to hear that, Razor."

"Livvy is there with a jar of honey! At best, he's a beekeeper! At worst. they're having freaking breakfast together!"

"W-what? No Seymour…he meant...or...okay...no...actually, don't take anything Sanderson says as fact. He could be making up the Olivia part. After all, we never heard evidence that Olivia was in the same room as him."

Seymour seemed to calm down.

"Michael Westen, what would I do without you? You are so good to me. You are the alfalfa to my sprouts!"

"No, Razor, you can just sprout on your own... No! Wait!..."

"Hey, _I know_!" Seymour announced with an idea, "Maybe I should wake Alfred up to whip us up some awesome mango smoothies!"

"At two in the morning? No, Razor, it's not neces-"

As if on cue, they heard a door from another room opening and silently closing. Seymour brightened, thinking it was Alfred. He opened his mouth to tell Alfred to come into the meditation room.

But the hairs on the back of Michael's neck told him it was not Alfred. Or even a friend.

Michael put his index finger up to his mouth to silence Seymour.

He figured if it were Alfred outside the door, his footsteps would have been obvious. But these footsteps were covertly quiet, as if someone were sneaking around.

_"Razor_!" whispered Michael, "_You've got a gun somewhere in this room_?"

Seymour soundlessly reached underneath his mat and pulled out a handgun and handed it to Michael who gratefully accepted it. Really? Even under a mat? Michael thought to himself.

_Here __a __gun, __there __a __gun, __everywhere __a __gun, __gun__…_

Michael accepted the gun, and went to stand by the side of the doorway, his back against the wall. Barely breathing, he waited.

Footsteps were silently headed their way. Michael could make out _two_ sets of footsteps.

The first thing that Michael saw sticking out of the doorway was a gun. Michael started to reach for the gun.

But the first big guy was fast. In no time he was in the room and pointing his gun at Seymour. He wore camouflage pants.

"Don't shoot or Seymour's dead!" threatened CamouflagePants.

Michael couldn't let them shoot Seymour. His second thought was he could not believe his first thought.

"Look out behind you!" CamouflagePants warned someone.

Sure enough, a second guy quickly entered and turned, pointing his gun at Michael. The second guy was build like a wall of bricks. CamouflagePants kept his gun pointed at Seymour.

Michael and BrickWall continued to have their guns trained on each other. It was a stalemate.

"Don't even think about it," said Michael, evenly, as he stared down the barrel of a gun.

BrickWall gave a half grin as his gun held steady, "Westen. You have no idea who you are up against."

The guy knew Michael's name. So obviously this wasn't a random robbery.

"I'm afraid I am at a disadvantage," said Michael, still pointing, "I don't know who you are."

"I'm unimportant in the scheme of all of this," he said mysteriously.

_In __the __scheme __of __all __of __this?_ This told Michael they were working for one powerful person.

The two men continued to aim their guns towards one another. Neither one seemed to be breathing.

"My underling has orders not to shoot Seymour—unless we are provoked," warned BrickWall.

"I wasn't the one who came in uninvited," Michael said, maintaining his cool. His arm was getting tired from holding the gun. His body needed rest from the stun gun incident at the club.

"So true…And we _will_ leave, once Seymour tells us the location of a certain item," claimed BrickWall, who kept his gun pointed at Michael, "in the mean time, I have an idea on how to end this standoff."

Michael knew he wasn't going to like whatever the guy suggested.

"Do tell."

"We put our guns down at the same time."

"So far, your idea does not sound very appealing," said Michael, aiming his gun right between the guy's eyes.

"I'm not done," said BrickWall, "I've heard of your reputation. You're ruthless. As am I. You're a skilled fighter. As am I."

"I get it, " Michael interrupted, "I eat yogurt. As are you."

Seymour laughed, "Awesome, Michael! And you've managed to say it when you are at the edge of death, no less! That is why you are a badass!"

"You better shut up your boyfriend," said CamouflagePants, still pointing his gun at Seymour, "or he'll be the first to get it right at the heart."

Michael ignored the "boyfriend" comment as he spoke to BrickWall.

"Tell me what you propose."

BrickWall smiled maliciously, "I propose the ultimate contest."

"The ultimate contest?"

BrickWall nodded.

"Just you and me, Westen. No weapons. We go mano-to-mano in combat, a fight to end all fights. No rules once it starts. What do you say?"

Michael's facial expressions remained stoic, "Intriguing."

But Michael's statement was not earnest. His body felt used up by Sanderson and his goons. He was still trying to recover full control of the nerves in his body. Plus his opponent easily had a good 30 pounds of muscles over him.

Michael was not in fighting condition. He had to work on just standing steadfastly without trembling.

"So we are in agreement, then, Westen. Or we could stand like this all day."

Michael had no choice. His knees were starting to wobble.

"Yes, we are in agreement."

"Good...so," announced BrickWall, "...being who you are, you know the drill. We do this at the same time…"

BrickWall held up his gun as Michael followed suit.

Michael and BrickWall would do this simultaneously.

Pointing the barrels of their guns in the air, both men concurrently crouched down, to place the guns on the floor. After both released their weapons, they both stood up at the same time. It was like looking at a mirror. They then both kicked the weapons as far away from them as possible at the same time.

"It's done." BrickWall announced.

_Yes, __it's __done._ Michael took a deep breath as his body continued to feel rubbery.

He just hoped _he_ wasn't done yet.

.

.

_Thanks everyone for you kind reviews. I appreciated each and every one! They keep me so motivated and happy! I cannot tell you how much fun I am having writing this story. _

_Please review._


	12. Chapter 12

The duel

Chapter 12

BrickWall and Michael faced each other after both kicked their weapons away. Michael started to get slightly light-headed as he eyed his opponent and noted the muscles on the man.

His legs were shaking, begging Michael to give them a rest. He didn't think he could stand up for too much longer, let alone fight BrickWall. But Seymour's life was at stake, too.

Michael now wasn't sure if his trembling was due to weakness or the idea that he had thoughts of Seymour.

He turned towards CamouflaugePants, who had his gun trained on Seymour. CamouflaugePants decided to play tough guy.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" he glared at Michael.

Michael pointed to the guy's pants with the camouflage pattern, "Sorry, I can't see you; you're blending in the scenery."

_"W-what?"_

As CamouflaugePants looked down at his pants with a total look of bafflement, Michael then turned his attention back to BrickWall. Obviously BrickWall did not find it funny. He was observing Michael closely.

"What's the matter, Westen?" asked BrickWall, "Feeling the aftereffects of the _stun __gun?"_

Michael had no response, but his mind was running overtime at the knowledge that the guy just verified that these two goons were connected with the nightclub gang, who were somehow involved with the disappearance of Olivia.

Yet, it wasn't quite a kidnapping.

After all, Olivia did call Seymour up at one point and had acted as if everything was fine. In fact, she seemed defensive when Seymour intimated that something did not feel right.

So, how were all these thugs tied in with her voluntary desertion?

All these thoughts were tiring Michael out further. Spies know the most important fighting weapon he can possess is not a particular weapon, but a well-conditioned mind and body.

BrickWall broke into Michael's thoughts.

"Hey! Westen! Maybe I should just have my buddy shoot you if you continue to daydream."

...and another important fighting weapon a spy should possess is an attention span.

BrickWall was already getting into fighting mode. He stooped slightly, knees bent, urging Michael forward with his fingers, "Come on Westen, let's have at it."

"Yay! Go, Michael, go!" yelled Seymour, sounding like a cheerleader.

"Shut-up, Seymour!" snapped CamouflagePants.

Seymour looked agitated back at him.

"You know, bad guy, if you didn't _suck_ so much, you'd fall off the freaking earth!"

"Hey! _I'm_ the one with the gun here!" Camouflauge Pants showed off, "So suck on that! 'Cuz everyone knows that life is unfair." taunted CamouflagePants to Seymour.

"Oh yeah?" questioned Seymour, "Because if life is frigging unfair to everyone, doesn't that make life _fair_ to everyone?"

Huh? CamouflagePants scratched his head.

"_Je-sus_!" interrupted a disgusted BrickWall, "After I dispose of Westen, I'll shoot stupid Seymour myself!"

BrickWall then turned and directed a maniacal grin back at Michael. When he got Michael' s attention, he then got into some weird configuration that was obviously a martial arts fighting position.

Michael recognized that fighting form as the Shaolin tiger.

A spy trained in the martial arts knows that the Tiger form allows the fighter to spin the opponent counterclockwise so his back is now to the fighter. Then seizing the abdominal pressure points, the fighter spy will then pull the opponent backwards and down, making the adversary at the 'tiger's" mercy.

"Michael!" spoke up Seymour, "What's he doing? Does he have freaking indigestion? Show him_ your_ bad-assery!"

BrickWall's expression did not change.

"Oh, by the way, I didn't tell you I was a black belt Master, did I?" he sneered, "and in case you are not familiar with the ancient Oriental method of fighting, this here is the Shaolin tiger."

Michael's expression showed he was not intimidated.

"_So-o_… you plan to win this fight …by..._what_... _boring_ _me __to __death_?" Michael asked.

"I'm warning you, Westen," he stated, "My kicks are deadly and I always hit my target."

"Kicking anything and then calling whatever you hit the target is not that impressive," Michael responded.

BrickWall guffawed, "I'm just giving you the heads-up. And in my many years of self-defense training, one conclusion can always be drawn."

"What's that?" Michael asked, not showing any fear.

"A talented _big_ man will always win over a talented smaller man."

Spies know there are three ways to get out of a situation like this unharmed. One was to run. Not an option for Michael with his rubbery-feeling legs. The second was to let the guy underestimate you. Pretend to cower and then _whammo!_ he's out. Again not an option for Michael with his rubbery-feeling arms.

The third option was to cheat.

Michael chose option number three.

"...And in the world of spy training," continued Michael calmly, "one conclusion could also always be drawn."

"And what's that, tough guy?" BrickWall snickered.

"A spy always has an alternate plan."

Michael had earlier retrieved his extra gun from the glove compartment of his car before he came in. He had learned that lesson from his mom. Never leave a gun where your mother could find it.

In one swift movement, he retrieved the gun and calmly shot BrickWall right under the knee cap.

BANG!

Blood spurted out like a sideways fountain. BrickWall reached down to cover his knee while yelling the entire time.

In the same movement, Michael quickly turned and swung his gun at CamouflagePants, who quickly dropped his gun and held up his hands in surrender mode.

"Hey, dude! Don't shoot! I give! _I give_!"

"_Dammn it_!" BrickWall was now on the ground holding onto his bloodied knee, "You shot my knee out!"

Seymour was hooting, "That was so _badass_, Michael!"

Michael swung the gun back back towards BrickWall, pointing it at the other knee, "Tell me what you know or I'll give you a matching set."

CamouflagePants spoke up first to his partner, "Tell him! Tell him everything, man!"

"Ow...owwwww!" complained BrickWall who was only aware of his own pain as he made a bloodied mess on Seymour's floor.

"Tell me now," jested Michael, "and later, we could go out and have a beer together. My treat. "

"Wow, Michael!" Seymour cheered, "You sure are a forgiving guy!"

Michael cocked his gun and this time placed the nuzzle right at Brickwall's good knee.

"I'm having problems keeping my trigger finger steady," claimed Michael.

"OOooo!" Seymour looked at Michael with admiration as BrickWall attempted to talk.

"Oww! No, don't! I'll tell you! We..only know...yeoooowww...to get the damn video tape...and give to Sander -s_weet_ _Jesus_!..."

He never finished. CamouflagePants, his partner, added, "He's right! _Please_ let us go!"

"Where's the rendezvous point?" Michael was all business, "You should know that!"

BrickWall almost didn't hear him, he was in so much pain.

"...River...Yeow!...the...Riverside Hotel...and that's it...!"

Michael put away the gun. Chances are, BrickWall was telling the truth and CamouflagePants was too dumb to know anything else. He knew about the need-to-know rule when it came to lowlife underlings.

They were useless to him and Michael was tired as he gestured with his head towards the door.

"You and this brick-wall get the hell out of here."

.

.

(Ten minutes later)

With all the noise, Alfred had come running and came rushing down the hallway.

Meanwhile the front door burst opened and Sam and Fi dashed in, yelling that they witnessed a car squealing away from the mansion.

Sam and Fi were the first to arrive in the meditation room, followed by Alfred. Looking at the bloodied mess, they knew something bad had happened.

"_Sir_!" said Alfred, sounding exasperated, as he looked at the blood-splattered floor, "You have left me with another difficult clean up! With all due respect, I must insist you stick to my job qualifications! None of which _ever_ consisted of cleaning blood stains on wooden floors! I wouldn't even know how to clean this bloodied mess!"

"Allow the blood to oxidize" advised Fi, "then use some cold water and peroxide."

"Oh, Alfred! " pooh-poohed, Seymour "These small inconveniences are to be expected when you are dealing with Michael 'kick ass' Westen! I think most people around him are only alive because it is illegal for Michael to shoot them!"

"No, Razor," denied Michael, "That's not..."

But Seymour could not stop gushing.

"It's kismet you're here...kismet, Michael, kismet!"

Sam grinned, "Okay...crescendo music, and then pass me the popcorn, Fi."

But Fi was exasperated as she turned to Michael.

"Mi-chael! You got in _another_ fight?"

"I-I didn't expect..." defended Michael, "...Look, the other guy started it..."

"No, Michael! Stop...just _Stop!" _Fi was visibly upset,_ "_Why are you even in the middle of this mess? Your body needs rest…not to shoot up bad guys!"

Michael looked at Fi, frustration showing on his face.

"Fi, you think I asked for _this_?"

Seymour interceded.

"Sweet destiny, Fiona, forget the 'he needs rest' talk!" interjected Seymour, "Let him fight all he wants! Michael was brilliant! Freaking meteorite brilliant! BANG! Michael didn't even blink when he shot that bad guy! Actually, I saw him move one eyebrow up before he shot the dude! So awesomely threateningl! I've practiced that expression in front of the mirror and it is so hard to do..…"

'Stop! I am talking to _Michael_!" said Fi, folding her arms and looking annoyed, "Michael, stop messing with the bad guys, stop maiming them, stop shooting them, and just _rest!_"

Michael was not going to argue. His body was screaming for some down time.

"The stars were all aligned with Michael, I tell you!" Seymour insisted to Fi, "He was on a Vegas roll, baby! What he did _this_ time was when the bad guy-"

"_Enough!_" insisted Fi. with a glare at Seymour.

"...so...Michael fired and freaking game _over_!" Seymour managed to squeeze in.

.

An hour later, the place had been scrubbed down and Alfred had fixed everyone their special smoothie as the three sat in the huge living room sectional sofa. Then he had gone to sleep away what remained of the early morning hours.

Michael, Fi, and Sam were discussing what they now knew of the case.

"It's obvious that these goons are looking for a video of some sort that they think Seymour possessed that might have belonged to Olivia." Michael surmised.

"Are you saying," Seymour's eyes went wide, "she did something frigging _bad_? Not my Olivia! She's an angel!"

"Don't worry, buddy," assured Sam, "If she's guilty, there are plenty more fish in the sea."

Seymour looked at Sam, "Why would I want to date a freaking fish?"

Sam stared at Seymour.

"...Back to the mission, " stated Michael, "I don't know what a florist would be doing with an incriminating video, but our next destination will be the Riverside Hotel."

"You mean that Sam will investigate," stated Fi with certainty.

Michael and Sam turned to look at Fi as she continued.

"Sam will go and check out the hotel while Michael rests. _Sam_ will find George," said Fi.

"You mean Lenny, Fi." Corrected Michael.

"What does it matter _what_ his name is?" she pointed out, "Let the morgue figure it out, and put it on his toe tag."

Sam turned back towards Michael.

"So you want me to swing this alone?" Sam asked. Before Michael could answer, Fi spoke out again.

"If it means Michael gets his rest," Fi stated, "And I'm going to stay here to make sure he gets it!"

Sam pleaded his case to Michael, "Aww, Mikey, can she decide that for us?"

Michael shrugged, actually relieved he would get some rest, "Sam, you can take Seymour with you."

"Yes!" cheered Seymour.

It was one of the few times Michael witnessed Sam's easygoing demeanor turning jittery and nervous.

"Oh, no…uh-huh. You're not unloading him off on me!" insisted Sam, "I'll fly solo on this!"

"No," said Michael, shaking his head, "Not a good idea. None of us should be alone when checking out _anything_! Not with all these thugs running around. Whoever these guys are, they seem to have an unlimited number of bad guys around. Seymour will go with you!"

"No way!" insisted Sam, "Mikey, you know as well as I do that his mind is a little 'twisted'."

Michael's head jostled back and forth in a maybe/maybe-not gesture, "Not twisted, per se... just a little...shall we say, 'sprained'."

"Hey!" interjected Seymour, "Sprained not twisted! Awesome analogy!"

"Mikey," attempted Sam again, "I am _not_ going there with the Gun Muppet! Over and out, Buddy!"

He folded his arms, showing he was not budging from his answer.

"Sam," reasoned Michael, "Did you see all those attractive women at Seymour's party? You understand that Seymour has access to _all_ their names and numbers, don't you?"

Sam looked over at Seymour who excitedly nodded, "Bambi _loves_ awesome Hawaiian shirts!"

That sealed the deal for Sam, who now leaned over and spoke in a low voice to Michael.

"Crap! You fight unfair! O-kay, Mikey, but I just want to go on record to say, you want Seymour with me so that he won't be left here with _you!_" accused Sam.

Michael leaned back and slightly grinned.

"_So_…what's your point, Sam?"

.

.

_(I just wanted to say that the reviewers are far funnier than I could ever be. Thanks for leaving such entertaining reviews!)_

_Please __review_


	13. Chapter 13

'Hai' there!

Chapter 13

After a restful sleep, Sam and Seymour were on their way to The Riverside Hotel, located in the heart of downtown.

They were going to check on Lenny "George Clooney" Sanderson, who was supposedly holed up there. Hopefully this would be the same hotel in the video that they had seen with Olivia going into one of the rooms.

Sam was driving, trying to get over the idea that Michael had basically loaded off Seymour on him. Oh, perhaps he shouldn't take it out on Seymour.

As he glanced over to Seymour sitting in the passenger seat, he noted a rolled up yoga mat strapped on Seymour's back, with a leather strap going across diagonally on Seymour's chest.

"Hey, there, Buddy," said Sam, attempting to make nicey-nice, "You plan on meditating when we reach our destination or what?"

Seymour turned to look at Sam, his eyes as wild looking as ever.

"Do you expect me to carry my Mossberg 500 Cruiser shotgun out in public?" Seymour asked seriously as he patted his mat with the weapon enclosed inside, "This is one bad-ass weapon! That kidnapper doesn't stand a snowball chance in hell against this baby! We are gonna get my Livvy back, safe and sound!"

Sam looked over again, now making out the weapon rolled in the mat, before he faced forward again to view the traffic.

"My bad, buddy. That's one great weapon you've brought there. It's reassuring to know I've got a good backup man. Hope your aim is as good as your weapon."

"What do you mean, Sam? I don't even know how to _shoot_ a weapon!"

Sam's mouth dropped as he stopped at a red light, "Uh, Razor, what are you saying? Aren't _guns_ your specialty? Aren't you a _gun_runner?"

"I sell them, not fire them! Hey! You don't have to be an all-star football player to be an ass-kicking coach!" Seymour pointed out.

Green light. Sam drove on.

"So then, how do you plan to use this shotgun if you can't fire it?"

"Oh, I've got a bad-ass answer for that!" claimed Seymour, "You know the sport of Jai alai?"

Sam furrowed his forehead, "Jai alai, eh? Isn't that where you use Chinese tiles?"

Seymour shook his head vigorously.

"No, my awesome friend! You're thinking of mahjong! But that was SO close of a guess!"

"Okay, then," said Sam, "So what is this Jai mai tai?"

"Jai _alai_!" repeated Seymour, "It's a sport like racquetball where players hold these awesome basket sticks and whip their rock hard balls against granite walls!"

"...gee...that's quite a description there, Razor..."

"It's the game of _manliness_ in Mexico!" exclaimed Seymour, "or as I like to call it: '_Jai a-Mike_!"

"Wow."

Seymour demonstrated by scooping the air with his hands, "I'll be hitting George with my jai alai gun!"

_Christ, _ Seymour is going to get him killed.

"So we going beat George into a living death, right, Sam?" asked Seymour, looking hopeful.

"Gee, I don't know there, Raze, buddy," replied Sam, "With you not being able to fire a weapon, I don't know."

Seymour's face fell, "But I thought I would be involved with kicking Sanderson's ass! I want to be there when he becomes the last of the Mohicans!"

Sam needed to change the subject before Seymour had a meltdown.

"Don't fret it, buddy," Sam said, "everything will turn out alright at the end. And afterwards, we'll be celebrating with mojitos. Uh, you do drink, don't you?"

Seymour's eyes got large.

"Never! Gotta protect my body-as-a-temple, Awesome-man!" insisted Seymour, "_and hey!..._isn't alcohol man's worst enemy?"

Sam didn't even blink, "But didn't the Bible say to _love _your enemy?"

Seymour seemed to brighten, "Hey, _yeah_..."

Another red light.

As they sat. waiting, Seymour had another thought for Sam.

"...but Awesome-man, I think I read somewhere that drinking is bad for you, right?"

"If that's true, buddy, then you should stop reading," advised Sam.

"Well, that's an awesome point there!" agreed Seymour.

Green light.

"So, Razor, " said Sam needing to get back to discussing strategies, "...just how good _are_ you at fighting?" Sam asked.

"Does fighting _a _cold count?" Seymour asked.

_Crap._

_"_Look," stated Sam, "This will be a crash course in fighting. First things first, you gotta feel anger at your opponent. And not just _Gun Muppet-angry_, but real-life angry. You ever feel rage, buddy?"

Seymour looked deep in thought, "Awesome-man, I try _never_ to go to bed angry. I will even stay up all night until that feeling fades!"

_Double crap. Forget it. _He'll have to leave Seymour behind.

The Riverside Hotel loomed ahead.

Sam pulled into the parking lot. It was a nondescript, moderately priced hotel that must have once been a great downtown thriving place to stay, but now needed to be updated, for time had passed it by. It could only be described now as dull beige in color with plain shrubbery surrounding the exterior.

"So how we going to know which room he's in?" asked Seymour, as they sat in parking lot of the small hotel, "There must be a couple thousand rooms!"

"I see, Raze, that you've been saying "maybe" to drugs again. There are maybe hundreds of rooms at most," said Sam as he pulled out his cell phone, "Watch and learn, Grasshopper," he told Seymour.

"I'm not a gr-"

"Yeah, I know you're not a grasshopper," Sam stated as he dialed information, "I just wanted to be able to say it once in my life."

"I was going to say I'm not a great student of watching and learning," Seymour confessed, "at least the second part!"

Sam got the phone number of the hotel from the operator and then dialed the lobby. The hotel clerk answered on the second ring.

"Good morning, Riverside Hotel."

"Yes, could you put through to Lenny Sanderson's room?"

"One moment."

The second ring was cut off midway. Then Sam heard a voice, "Yeah, Sanderson, here."

"Yes," said Sam, with a professional sounding voice, "This is Guest Services. We tried to deliver a personalized 'Welcome' basket for you, Mr. Sanderson. However, when we tried to deliver it to your room of number 103, we found someone else in your room, which caused us a great deal of concern."

"What the hell is wrong with you people?" barked Sanderson, "I am in room 452! How the hell could you mess up so badly?"

"Oh, our apologies, sir," said Sam, "We had put a new employee on basket duty. I will certainly take this matter up with management. We apologize and promise to be up shortly with your delivery, sir." Sam then hung up.

"You are so freaking good!" Seymour announced, looking wide-eyed.

Sam grinned. Seymour's not so bad. "Razor, you don't have to tell me that twice!"

.

The lobby was empty when Sam and Seymour walked across. Sam nodded and winked at the receptionist, trying to look as if he belonged. The receptionist blushed and giggled before shyly waving back.

As they walked through the lobby, Sam noted how aged the hotel look.

"Christ, this place is a relic!" observed Sam.

"Hell, yeah, it is! " agreed Seymour, "I bet instead of a wake up call, they'd give you a freaking wake up telegraph!"

Sam and Seymour went inside the elevator. The elevator doors shut.

"Michael is like the superspies of spies, isn't he?" Seymour was practically drooling as the elevator car went up.

"Oh yeah, Raze, you've got that right," said Sam, humoring Seymour, "You know at night when Michael goes to bed? He's so fast that he could run, turn off the lights and be back in bed before the room went dark!"

"_Awe-some_!" stated an impressed Seymour, "What else? What else? Tell me how bad guys fear Michael!"

Man-crushes are the best for storytelling, thought Sam.

"Yeah, all baddies know about Michael's reputation! _Why_, if a bad guy has ten dollars and Michael has ten dollars, I've heard that they figure Michael has more!"

"No _kidding!_ That is one badass rep!" Seymour was getting overexcited, "More, more!".

"You know the TV show 'Law and Order'?" asked Sam, "that's actually what we call each of Michael's legs when he roundhouse kicks the bad guy!."

"Man! I can't _deal_ with all this awesomeness! And you know what, Sam, all your stories give me a great idea!"

Oh, oh, thought Sam, "Uh...is it legal in all states?"

"Oh yeah!" said Seymour, "When I go home, I am going to make some finger puppets and in the quietness of my room, I will re-enact Michael's missions! How awesome is that!"

Seymour looked so pleased as he ecstatically looked down at his fingers and wiggled them.

"Uh Raze, buddy, ...just be sure when you do _my_ puppet that I'm the _index _finger," commented Sam solemnly.

"Aren't you taller than Michael?" asked Seymour, spreading out his fingers and comparing the height of each of the fingers.

The elevator dinged.

"The index finger, Razor, _I'm the index finger!_"

The elevator door opened, and not a moment too soon. After Seymour stepped out, Sam stopped him.

"You stay back here, Seymour, out of sight," warned Sam, "in case there's trouble. "

Seymour looked crestfallen.

"I thought, Awesome Man, we were in it together...that we would kick ass as a team...you know 'death before dishonor' and all, right?"

"'Death before dishonor' only happens in the dictionary, my friend, " said Sam as he patted Seymour on the shoulder, "Look, you can play lookout. "

"But I want to come..." Seymour looked pouty.

This was not going to be easy. Sam needed to think.

"Okay, Okay. listen carefully," Sam volunteered, "We'll _compromise._..I'll admit that this time I am not wrong and you meet me halfway by agreeing with me. How's that?"

Seymour scrounged up his face in deep thought, "Wait! Words can be so difficult to understand when you string them along in a sentence! So...let me get this straight...if I agree, does that mean we just _compromised_?"

"Oh yeah definitely, buddy, " nodded Sam, "So I'm going to go now because big-man-on-campus _you_ decided to compromise, which I appreciate. _And_ if you hear me yell, just get the hell out of here, okay?"

"Oh... O-kay," agreed Seymour, although not sounding totally convinced.

Damn, I could solve world peace with my talent, thought a satisfied Sam as he turned the corner and walked down the corridor alone.

He stood in front of room 452. Sam had his gun on his waistband. He lifted his hand and knocked. There were footsteps, and then nothing.

Sam yelled through the door.

"Sir, this is Guest Services! I have your welcome basket!"

"Come in! The door is unlock!" A muffled voice said.

Uh-oh, thought Sam, he may be walking into an ambush. But he had no choice.

Before he entered, Sam pulled out his gun, opened the door and moved inside. It took time for Sam to adjust to the darkness of the room, as the curtains had been drawn.

Suddenly the door behind him shut on its own accord. Or more like Sanderson had been standing behind the door. When Sam quickly turned around, his eyes had still not fully adjusted to the dark.

And with the added element of surprise, Sanderson had the advantage and he used it.

"Hey!" yelled Sam, as Sanderson's foot reached up and kicked the gun out of Sam's hand. The gun flew and bounced off the narrow corridor before landing on the floor.

A fist was heading towards the middle part of Sam's body.

And it wasn't just any fist. The fist had a copper device surrounding it. It took Sam only a split second to realize that evidently Sanderson had put on some brass knuckles to maximize the damage. To Sam's body, to be specific.

Sam knew all this, but he did not have time to react. His brain waves only registered that the devastating punch was headed straight for his chest.

The brass knuckles smashed into Sam's sternum.

WHAP!

Searing pain entered, with the momentum driving Sam backwards. His eyes rolled back. It felt as if his chest cavity caved into his heart. Sam opened his mouth to scream, but his air was gone. Sam couldn't breathe.

When his eyes regained focus, the brass knuckles were now headed towards his face. Sam tried to move, but he felt he was going slow motion on a fast moving train. His body felt immobile, but he tried to turn away from the blow.

WHAP!

The brass knuckles scraped off the side of his head. Sam felt something in his head burst open. Pain exploded in that area. He felt his legs giving way.

From somewhere far away he heard a door burst open. A familiar voice was yelling a war-cry, "Noooooo! **_I will jai your alai!"_**

Sam heard Seymour's familiar voice and somehow he felt better.

Crap. He was glad that Seymour was here? Starting today, he will give up drinking.

And restart drinking tomorrow.

From where he had fallen, Sam groggily turned in time to see Seymour making scooping motions with his sniper rifle like he was playing jai alai, swishing it this way and that way at Sanderson.

And then Sam's eyes closed, all images gone.

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	14. Chapter 14

All kinds of connections

Chapter 14

While Seymour and Sam were busy at the Riverside Hotel, Fi stated that she would run a quick errand for Alfred to pick up some groceries from the store.

But she actually had her own little mission to complete.

With 22 miles of sandy-white beaches, the long strand of land was the ideal place for a gun deal. One was bound to find a secluded spot to meet. And who wouldn't want to make a profit under one of the most beautiful blue skies in the world?

Fi drove up at the isolated designated area.

She knew Michael would be upset if he knew she was doing a favor for Seymour, but she at least owed Seymour that much for all the weapons he had obtained for her. Not only for her, but for the three of them. Fi had convinced herself that she was doing it for their sake.

But in actuality, she was ready for some action.

She was getting restless.

When she drove up, there were already two men waiting for her with a brief case that she assumed would be money. Both men wore black t-shirts. At least they didn't look as though they were carrying weapons. Nothing looked amiss, so Fi figured it would be an easy exchange.

And if not, that would suit her even better.

The unevenness of the sand made it hard for Fi to walk on it and still maintain a tough persona. At the same time she also had to balance the carrying case, which inside contained the weapons. The total weight was probably one-third her own total weight.

When she was close enough to them, the toughest guy spoke up first, "Who the hell are you and where's Seymour?"

With one big heave, Fi gladly plopped the case down on the soft sand.

"Seymour's business is getting too big for one person to handle. Let's just say I'm the new delivery boy for today."

The guy measured her with a steely look and Fi did not flinch. He seemed satisfied that everything was on the up and up.

"A pretty girl like you shouldn't choose to have a hobby like this."

Fi held her head up high, "It's not a hobby... it's a lifestyle."

He grinned; he rather liked her.

"Rochester." He introduced himself. He pointed to his partner who looked like a hippie with his long hair tied in a ponytail. "He's Smith."

"Hey, Babes," Smith had a look of desire in his eyes, "maybe later today, I can show you _my_ throbbing lifestyle, eh?"

Great. There's always one sleazy one in the bunch, she thought.

"Nice to meet you" Fi stated, as she stuck out her hand.

With a salacious sneer Hippie Smith thrust forth his hand. She went directly to his middle finger and bent it in a direction it was not suppose to go. Hippie Smith buckled in pain.

"Hey, stop that, B*tch!" insisted Rochester, as he reached out to roughly grab her.

Fi's reply was a snap punch directly to Rochester's mouth.

"No name-calling!" she yelled at him.

"Yeow!" Rochester yelped, but Fi had wisely jumped back from both of them, outside of striking distance.

Rochester checked his mouth as blood trickled out of his mouth.

"You don't know who you are messing with, B*tch!"

"And I don't care to...so let's just get on with the transaction," Fi calmly announced.

They exchanged glares with her.

"Well?" she asked impatiently, "Do you need a signal? A burning bush, perhaps?"

Rochester nodded for the deal to begin.

Simultaneously, she handed the case to Rochester and Rochester handed the money over to her. Fi looked in the bag. It was stuffed with bills. Rochester looked in the case and nodded his satisfaction.

"Done," he said.

It looked as though he and his partner were ready to leave.

Fi's expression showed disappointed, "_That's it_?"

Rochester guffawed, "What did you want, bodies flying all over?"

"It's a start," Fi's voice sounded disappointed.

"_B*tch,_" was Rochester's only response, until he saw her menacing stare and his eyes widened, "Uh...but a _nice_ B*tch..."

Luckily he noted her expression had been reduced to a slight glower.

He nudged Hippie Smith, "Come on, let's go."

Fi sighed as she watched them disappear. To her, a job should include a fallen body.

She considered the transaction incompleted.

.

.

Fi had already returned home from her mission, if she could even call it that. Fi and Michael were alone at Seymour's place except for Alfred, who was busy in the kitchen.

Fi gave a big sigh. After that non-active exchange, she was restless, but Michael had not even noticed. Typical.

"So, do you want to hear about my grocery errand, Michael?" " asked Fi, casually, "I just got back from manhandling two thugs at the beach."

"That's nice, Fi, "he replied absent-mindedly.

He was busy scowling at his cell phone.

Fi's exasperation was put aside when she could see Michael was troubled.

"What is it, Michael?" Fi asked, as she watched Michael's puzzled expression.

"We haven't had any contact from Sam and Seymour for awhile. That worries me. I should have gone with them."

Fi tried not to roll her eyes.

"What could you have done, Michael," asked Fi, "except become dead weight for them? Your body would probably give out and they'd probably end up lugging you all around the hotel! You are in _no_ shape to go _anywhere_!"

Michael finally turned to see her for the first time, "You seem to be in a grumpy mood."

Fi glared at him, "I am not in any kind of mood...it's just...you keep wanting action when you should be resting! But go ahead! You've rested enough from the little shock!"

"A little shock?" Michael said, "My body was internally electrified with a stun gun!"

"Don't overplay the empathy card, Michael. Remember, I've been stunned before, too. It's just a little sting."

"A little _sting?_ Fi getting hit by a stun guy isn't a little tap! The gun shot out electrical voltages that had stopped some of my brain synapses from firing and my muscles become one big spasm attack!"

Fi shrugged, "Oh, don't be such a big baby!"

They had been sitting next to one another on the long sectional sofa. Instead of making him feel bad, her comment brought a smile to Michael's lips. Even when she was in a mood, she was quite the spitfire, and he liked that about her.

"Okay,Fi, I just hope you feel better soon."

Ooooh! She hated when he was being patronizing. She'll show him!

Fi looked at him sideways.

"So you're worried about Seymour? If I didn't know any better, I would say that you actually_miss_ him," she challenged.

That made Michael stop and look at her.

"You're suggesting that I miss _Seymour_? Fi, _you're_ hitting below the belt now!"

"...and that's my intention."

Michael's mood had also changed. He wanted to stand on a roof and shout the denial of missing Seymour throughout all of Miami. But somehow the world did seem gray and quiet with his absence.

"I'm just concerned for both Sam _and_ Seymour," Michael claimed, "and while we're on the subject of Seymour...what is your opinion of him, Fi? Do you think...you know...how should I say it...that Seymour swings...er... both ways?"

Fi smiled at last.

She reached up and gingerly touched his cheek, bringing a tremor throughout his body, "Yes, Seymour swings both ways..and, as you can see, they're both headed in your direction!"

Even Michael had to grin.

He loved everything about her…she was a woman who offered him a challenge, who interests him…and yet made him feel at home.

And every time he looked at her, he could not stop wanting her.

"What are you thinking, Michael?" asked Fi.

Michael gaze was suddenly alive and hot, as if a blue flame had been captured in his eyes.

Fi smiled back at him putting Michael in a very good mood, indeed.

He instinctively slid an arm around Fi's shoulders, as he replied, "...that beating up of two goons on the beach was not a very good thing to do when you are running errands."

Fi looked stunned, "So you _were_ listening to me!"

"Fi," said Michael gently, "I am always listening to you. My ears are the only part of me that never gets into trouble."

Soon she found herself being lifted effortlessly into Michael's lap.

"_Michael_! Stop that!" she was laughing and not resisting at all.

"Yes?" he murmured, his arms completely around her, with his mouth brushing the soft skin of her throat. Fi couldn't help but sigh. She loved when he found that special spot.

"Michael! We aren't at the loft! This is Seymour's place!"

"And?" The tip of his tongue touched her skin, tickling a sensitive nerve at the side of her throat.

Fi had to work at suppressing a little moan of excitement, "We are guest…and…and…what if _he_ calls us?"

"He'll be able to hear us, not _see_ us, Fi," Michael responded, as he murmured intimate words in her ear while his fingers worked stealthily to reach underneath her top, all the while cuddling her on his lap.

Excitement caused both their hearts to pound riotously. He took her mouth in an ardent kiss, searching for her tongue, absorbing the delicious taste of her. She responded willingly, letting him kiss her exactly as he wanted, while her body arched towards him.

"Now," Fi's voice sounded low and sexy, "is _this_ the part where you will somehow manage to compare us to food?"

Michael could barely think straight, "I _donut_ know what you mean..."

_R-ring!_

Michael's cell phone.

"_Nooo!"_ he moaned, turning his head, breath hissing through clenched teeth. He stared at the phone, looking as if he was debating whether or not he should answer it. He glanced quickly at the phone display.

He read the ID as being Sam. At last. He turned to Fi.

"It's Sam. I gotta take this...sorry."

Fi groaned and stumbled awkwardly off his lap, while trying to straighten her hair and clothes. Michael glanced at her, taking in the sparkle of her eyes and the flush on her cheeks. He liked the idea that if anyone saw her disheveled look as well as her lusciously swollen mouth, one could not mistaken it for anything but physical passion.

Michael put the phone next to his ear.

"Mikey?"

It was Sam's voice, but he sounded tired.

"Yeah, Sam…" Michael said, relief in his voice.

"We met up with Lenny-George."

"So, what happened?" asked Michael, but he was losing focus.

Fi was teasingly rubbing her hands all over him. Playfully, he was lightly swatting her hand away, but she persisted, giggling the entire time. He couldn't stop watching her. She looked so adorable.

Michael felt his heart contract with a feeling he had never known before…a feeling that was too distracting to examine right now, especially since he was on the phone with Sam.

"…so he got away," Sam ended.

Uh…Michael didn't quite get all of that. Or any of that. Concentrate, he thought.

"What?" Michael asked, forcing himself to turn away from Fi, who was lightly playing with his ear, to concentrate on the phone conversation, "…Sorry, bad connection on my end…"

But Sam knew better.

"Really, Mikey? That's what you're calling it now, _a__bad__connection_? I think, in reality, you must be making a very _good_ connection when I called." The silent pause told Sam he was not wrong, "And tell Fi 'hi', too…"

Michael felt himself slightly warm with embarrassment, "Sam, could you explain to me again what happened over there?"

"If you promise to keep Fi at a safe distance so you could listen" countered Sam, "To summarize, Sanderson jumped me and beat the crap out of me until Seymour came riding in on his unicorn. Yup, you heard me. _Seymour_. He pounded the guy with his shotgun...not _fired_ his gun, mind you, but pounded him with it. Yet despite being jai alai-ed, Sanderson got away!"

Did Sam say _jai alai_? Michael looked at his phone with a baffled look. What did an international sport have to do with Seymour fighting?

"Anyway, Sam...is Seymour alright?"

Fi stopped her teasing and sat up. This sounded serious.

"Pfft! Seymour?" Sam responded casually, "I think the hit he got to his head actually _cleared_ his mind! And... Uh, you did hear the part about Sanderson surprising _me_ and beating _me_ to a pulp, didn't you?"

"You okay, too Sam?"

There was some movement, and then Michael heard Sam saying something to Seymour.

"_Seymour,__I'm__fine…no…no…don't__touch__me__there!"_

The sound of slapping skin could be heard.

Michael grinned as Sam got back on the phone.

"Yeah…no, _stop_, Seymour,…so yeah, I got a few bruisers, but nothing permanent. Besides. you know how seeing battle scars on a man always impresses the ladies!"

Sam, forever, Sam.

"Sam, why don't you meet us back here, if you're up to it," said Michael sighed, disappointed at the results of the hotel mission, "I'm rested now. But I think we may have to approach this case from a different angle, although, which angle I couldn't say."

"Sure, I could meet you there."

Michael could hear some murmurings on the other line.

"Sam. Sam?" Michael hoped everything was alright on their end, "Are you there?"

Sam got back on, "Yeah, sure. Say, Mikey, there's been a new development over here."

Oh, great.

"Sam, don't get cryptic with me."

"Oh, sure Mikey, hold on…there's someone who's dying to talk to you."

Michael closed his eyes for a second. Seymour. He could hear Sam handing over the phone and saying it's okay to talk to Michael now.

What news could Seymour offer him?

Michael would keep it short. He looked at Fi who now began touching other parts of his body again. Keep it _real_ short. Her hand went lower down his waist. He was ready to hang up.

Michael forced his voice to sound happy.

"Ra-zor_…_ Hey, Ra-_zo_r! Heard you came sliding in on a rainbow to save Sam! I want to thank you for that!"

But what he heard back in response was a female's voice.

"…Is this Michael Westen?" the woman's voice asked, "Hello! My name is Olivia! I'm Seymour's girlfriend!"

.

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_Please review_


	15. Chapter 15

The truth and nothing but the truth

Chapter 15

Michael, Fi, Sam, Seymour, and Olivia all were back at the mansion in the living room on the long curved sofa.

Olivia began telling them the story of what had transpired on that day that Lenny/George had gone into the hotel room. Like Seymour, Olivia had a way of sentence overkill. The story below was Michael's interpretation of what happened once he heard the story:

(Four days ago)

_Olivia __had __entered __room __569 __of __the __Riverside __Hotel with the keycard that her ex-boyfriend, Tommy had given her. S__he __was determine __to __stop __her __ex __from __his __foolishness of keeping that video tape._

_He __had __been __waiting __for __her __when __she __entered __and __they __greeted __one __another._

_"Hey, __Liv, __so __you've __changed __your __mind? __You __want __in on the scheme?"_

"_Tommy,__you've __milked __enough __money __from __him.__You __should __turn __that __video __over __to __the __authorities!_"

_"Are you kidding, Liv? I am sitting on a gold mine here, a goldmine, I tell you!" said Tommy, who looked like a tall, thin rat._

_"Please, Tommy," pleaded Olivia, "Let it go! Just disappear with the money you've got!"_

_Tommy shook his head._

_"I just need $50,000 more and then I am outta here! I've booked a one-way ticket to Jamaica."_

_There was a noise at the door. Olivia and Tommy froze. The door knob was turning back and forth._

_"Tommy!"Olivia was alarmed,"What the—"_

_"Ssshhh! "Tommy said, as he inched towards the door._

_Tommy was almost to the door when a loud knock broke the silence._

_"Who is it?" Tommy shouted, his voice sounding unsteady._

_"Towels,"came a voice._

_Tommy moved closer, "Uh…don't need any!"_

_"Very good, sir. I bid you good night then."_

_There was the sound of footsteps leaving. Olivia breathed out. She did not even realize she had stop breathing._

_Tommy looked through the peephole. The hallway was empty._

_"What did I tell you? No worries!" __A grin was plastered on his face,"Whoever it was is gone now! I guess it was—"_

_The door opened unexpectedly._

_Olivia screamed._

_An unknown man had entered. He calmly shut the door. _

_"Where's the video?" he asked. _

_The calmness of his voice was unsettling._

_"Get the hell out of here!" Tommy yelled back, "I'm not saying!"_

_"That's fine by me," said the unknown man, as he walked up to Tommy._

_Then, without warning, he hit Tommy right at the bridge of the nose._

_Olivia could hear the sound of broken cartilage as Tommy screamed in pain. Then the man viciously slapped Tommy on the side of the face with the back of his hand, throwing Tommy off-balanced._

_"Leave him alone!"Olivia yelled as she ran towards the assailant, attempting to push the him off Tommy._

_As Tommy dealt with his broken nose, the unknown man reached down and grabbed a part of Olivia's leg. He started sliding his hand down her leg. Olivia had to bend down with her hands to get his hand off of her appendage_

"**_Stop that_!"** _Olivia screamed confusingly, as she forcibly tried to push his hand off. It did no good. It was as if his hand was feeling for something. She soon found out what it was._

_His hand stopped when he found an exact spot between her kneecap and shinbone. Olivia throat caught as alarms went off in her head._

_Suddenly his fingers dug in her leg like steel claws. Excruciating pain erupted as her leg started throbbing like crazy. She felt her leg buckling from underneath her. Tears surfaced, making it hard for her to see._

_Then, the Assailant reached his leg out and kicked Tommy's knee joint with expert precision. Tommy hollered in pain as a sharp crack was heard._

_The blow shattered Tommy's kneecap. He tried hard to catch his breath as he attempted to yell to Olivia._

"_L-Liv! Get a-way …while you c—"_

_Tommy never got to finish as the Assailant pulled back his fist and slammed it up against Tommy's jaw, fracturing bones. He then, with both of his powerful hands, began pulling at Tommy's opened mouth, splitting apart his mouth in opposing directions. There was a harsh cracking noise that Olivia had never heard before as fear nearly choked her._

_Olivia started backing away towards the front door._

_Tommy had dropped like a bag of potatoes. The Assailant then walked over and pounded him in the ribs. As Tommy lay broken and bruised, the Assailant walked over to open the window._

_With his jaw broken, Tommy could not even protest. The Assailant took solid hold of Tommy's feet and was dragging him towards the window. Tommy had too many broken bones to protest, and his eyes were large with fear._

_Halfway there, the Assailant turned evilly towards Olivia, "You're next," he threatened as he continued to drag Tommy's broken body towards the window._

_Oh, god! thought Olivia, who could see there was nothing she could do to save him. She quickly opened the door and painstakingly limped down the hallway._

_What she had witnessed would forever haunt her._

.

_Later, she had gone back to see if the video was hidden in the room. Before she could go up, however, she spotted Seymour—and a Hawaiian shirt man—going up to the room, so she stayed hidden until all the commotion was over._

_._

Everyone was exhausted after she finished her version of the story, as the morning sun rays turned into early afternoon light.

Throughout this long period, Michael observed her. His overall opinion of Olivia Hutton was that she was the kind of person he would have figured for someone like Seymour.

Or as close as it could come. For Michael had always imagined that the ideal person for Seymour would be someone who was born in a flower, and raised by the elves; someone who spent her days chasing butterflies in meadows.

A retro hippie florist with one card short of a full deck, pretty much fit that bill.

Olivia had a slight flower- child look about her with long straight hair parted in the center and a loose embroidered top with bellbottom jeans. Her features were too strong to be called pretty, but she was attractive in a plain sort of way.

Except when she looked at Seymour. Then her whole face lit up and that's when Michael could see the true attractiveness of her.

She was looking at Seymour now, with a look of wistfulness.

"Oh, Raze, I've missed you so much..." she said, "Without you, I'm like a pencil without lead...pointless."

"And I," said Seymour, touching her cheek, "Am like a ballpoint pen without its ball."

Fi and Sam shivered at the imagery. Michael was getting impatient.

"Can we stop talking about writing gift sets and get back to business?"

"Michael," Seymour scooted closer to him, "You have something against writing instruments?"

Michael responded quickly, "No, but this is taking too long and I still have questions."

Seymour nodded understandably, "Keep it short, Livvy."

"Okay," she agreed

Seymour turned back to Michael, "She's ready to answer with short responses!"

Michael looked confused.

"Uh, Razor," asked, "If that was all it took to shorten her narration, why didn't you do this earlier so we didn't have to spend the entire morning listening to the hotel story?"

Seymour looked surprise.

"You don't get it, Michael? When Olivia is talkative like this, all I keep thinking is how fast time flies...why, look here now...morning is already over! How awesome is _that_?"

"Just...never mind." Michael hoped Seymour was right about Olivia keeping it brief.

"Olivia, who is the person after the tape?"

"Bradley Houston."

"Wait...Bradley Houston?" interrupted Michael, "the married senator, slated to run for President?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Sleaziness."

Michael waited. No further explanation. He now turned to Seymour.

"Okay...now the answers are _too_ short."

"We can only offer you extremes, Michael!" explained Seymour.

Michael felt a headache coming on, "Unfortunately. I need more info."

"Then let me start at the beginning," Olivia responded as everyone moaned.

So for the rest of the afternoon, Olivia explained the connection between the senator and the tape.

Again, Michael's interpretation was the following:

_Olivia told how three years ago, she and boyfriend Tommy lived in a refurbished beat up van, living on nothing but tofu and love. Soon enough, they realized they needed real jobs. She worked with flowers and he got a job as a bouncer at a nightclub, or really a strip club. One of the regular customers was a guy named Bradley Houston._

_One day, Tommy comes home and tells her he knew of a way to make lots of money. He borrowed a video camera. And he taped the senator in a compromising position._

Her expression turned sad.

"I swear," she explained, "I had no idea that Tommy had planned to blackmail the then newly- voted in Senator. And Tommy continued to blackmail, too,whenever he needed more money! So I said…"

Michael felt he was in a trance as she continued.

... "we were so naïve…I tried to warn him. I wouldn't let him spend any of that blackmail money on me, and..."

Her voice droned on and Michael's mind began drifting as he looked outside the window.

_Afternoon sunlight_

_Flowers swaying side to side_

_Spring is on its way_

My god, he's doing haiku in his head, and he doesn't even know how to do it! _Stop it! _ Michael berated himself, shaking his head to get out of his daydream.

Her voice was never-ending.

..."because now that I think about it, I could have..."

The afternoon sun was fading.

Michael interrupted her.

".._.Remember,_ short answers."

She nodded.

"Sure."

Michael asked. "Do you have possession of this video tape?"

She shook her head.

"Boyd, best friend."

"...and where is he, Olivia?"

"works at bar."

"Do you know which one?"

"Alabama Joe's."

At last, all the information they needed

Fiona touched Olivia's arm, gently, "It's okay, go back to your usual now."

Olivia turned and looked at Fi, hazily, "Wow! I wasn't in my right mind, was I?...it was like my left mind was overcrowded!"

But Michael wasn't listening, as he internalized a plan.

"I think we need to pay Senator Bradley Houston a personal house call, " Michael replied, "After all, as of this moment, we have no evidence that he did anything wrong."

"Awesome, Michael!" said Seymour said, "We'll freaking fight fire with fire!"

"Should we really do that, Raze?" asked Olivia, "Because don't firemen fight fire with _water_?"

Seymour passed her a silent "I love you" glance.

"Good idea about paying the senator a visit," agreed Fi, "I'll start packing."

By packing, everyone knew she meant "heat."

"Actually, Fi, I need you to stay with Olivia," said Michael, "besides, we'll be going there merely to talk."

"No beat ups and shoot outs this time?" asked Sam, "I'm in."

Fi caught Michael nodding at Sam.

"_What_?" she protested, "You're bringing the Mojito maniac, but not _me_?"

"Hey! I resent the name-calling!" Sam said, "I don't drink _that_ much! Only on days ending in 'Y'!"

But Fi was still glaring at Michael.

Michael had to think twice or he _donut_ think he will be getting muffins tonight. His strategy for visiting the Senator was so he could plant a listening device in his house.

Although, he may still need the tape for leverage. And it seemed as though Boyd at the bar knew of its location. A plan formed in his head.

"Okay, Fi...What if I told you I had a _different_ assignment for you and Olivia?"

He had Fi's attention now as she her expression changed.

"Different...as in _dangerous_?"

Spies know it's all in the semantics when they want an operative to cooperate.

"How does a rough and tumble bar filled with low-lifes sound?" Michael suggested.

He could tell from her expression that she was liking this alternative plan more and more.

"I'll need a gun, Michael, probably my assault rifle."

Uh-oh, thought Michael. He had to convince Fi to bring_ minimal_ firearm. Hopefully, there wouldn't be _any_ trouble at the bar.

"You wouldn't want to be obvious, now, right Fi?" asked Michael, "You should bring a _small_ gun you can _conceal_. That way you'll have the element of surprise on your side."

Olivia, meanwhile, shuddered at the mention of a weapon.

" I_ hate_ guns," Olivia stated, "they always seem to say 'go away' in a mean way. I'm all about using non-violence in all situations.."

"..._and_ take Olivia with you," suggested Michael.

Fi figured it didn't matter who she brought as long as she had a gun.

"Fine," she stated, "I'll go there and take my _tiny_ Glock 26. It _never_ requires a second firing."

Uh-oh.

"Hey," pointed out Seymour, "which group do I go with?"

"That's right," said a now agreeable Fi, "Shall Razor go with his true love or with the other one?"

Sam leaned in, "_Psst!_ Which one is Mikey's group?"

Michael shot Sam a look.

But at least Fi was happy as she was giving Michael one of her most dazzling smiles and Michael returned with one of his own.

The adoring glances weren't lost on Seymour.

"Bam! Pow! Awesome!" announced Seymour, "True love reigns once again! It's like watching Romeo and Juliet, if Juliet went around carrying a Glock 26!"

"Actually, " corrected Fi looking at Seymour, "She would be carrying a Remington 870 with a top-folding stock and a door-breaching muzzle brake. Like me, she has a thing for scatterguns. The Glock is only for her surprise visits to sleazy bars, right Michael?"

She gave Michael a satisfied smile.

Michael had a look of pure contentment on his face.

He was _so_ getting muffins tonight.

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_Please review _


	16. Chapter 16

Going Undercover

Chapter 16

While Michael, Seymour and Sam went to do their investigating at the Senator's house, Fiona and Olivia was headed to a the bar that Boyd worked at to hopefully locate the missing video Tommy had been blackmailing the Senator with.

Alabama Joe's was the classic redneck's bar, which meant it was a dive. The parking lot was filled with pickup trucks and beat-up Chevys.

Fi drove with Olivia in the passenger seat. She parked in the lot across the street, so she could get a good view of the bar.

"So this is where Boyd works?" Fi asked, observing the weather-worn structure, "What a dump."

"Yeah, pretty crummy, right? asked Olivia.

Fi shrugged, "I've seen worst."

"I really should warn you- it's a rough crowd inside. I hope I didn't scare you off."

"No, you didn't," stated Fi, "It's just I'd rather set myself on fire than deal with those scumbag rednecks in there."

"Yeah, but it's too hot for a fire today," commented Olivia as Fi looked confused, "But believe me, those men in there looked like they fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on their way down!"

"Good... then it'll be hard to tell if they've been beaten up," said Fi, anxious to see some kind of action. Action to her meant things were getting accomplished.

Olivia tilted her head, "I grew up to believe in peace, not war, right? Fighting is never right. But, you know, violence seems to be everywhere and I hate it!"

"I agree, violence is everywhere," nodded Fi, "although, at times, I have to hunt around for it."

"W-what?" Olivia looked taken aback but Fi hadn't even noticed as she watched the bar.

"I think it's time to have a little 'chat' with Boyd," Fi said, "I just hope the patrons in there speak English and not the language of 'idiot'."

Olivia's eyes got large as she watched Fi re-check for the gun she had concealed in her purse.

"Why do you need that handgun in your purse, Fiona?"

"...because a sniper rifle won't fit."

"No, I mean, you're not going to cause trouble, are you, Fiona?"

Fi looked straight at her, "Peaceful measures only work when both sides are willing. When not, we have to even up the score a different way. Things could get rather…tense in there. I want you to stay in the car."

"Maybe you can set your gun on 'stun'." Olivia's eyes were wide.

"What?" asked Fi.

"What?"

"_What?"_

Fi was getting nowhere.

"By the way, Olivia, your disdain for guns...do you even _know_ what Seymour does for a living? You _do_ know he works with guns, right?"

Of course I know he works with guns!" Olivia said decisively, " I've seen all his guns and I know that 's his business, but since he doesn't know how to shoot, I assume he works with_ gun control._"

"O-_kay_, that's one way to call it."

Olivia peered at Fi carefully.

"You _do_ believe in gun control, don't you, Fiona?"

"Of course," agreed Fi, "It's just that for me, gun control means being able to hit your target accurately."

"What?"

Not again, Fi thought; metaphorically speaking, Olivia's barrel seemed to be jammed.

None of this matter now. Fi had a job to do.

"We'll talk later, " Fi decided, "perhaps on Wednesday."

Fi got out of the car and none too soon, she thought.

Pulling the tail of her blouse out, Fi tied the ends together, making a knot under her rib cage, revealing a toned, flat stomach. Then she unbuttoned her top to a daring low, revealing a black bra. Bending over she shook her head and then stood back up, letting her now fluffed up hair fall sexily back in place. From her purse she took out eyeliner and compact and used the side mirror to apply more make up.

"How do I look?" Fi asked when she was done. Olivia gave a soured look as she responded.

"I guess change is inevitable...except from a vending machine. Did I ever tell you about the time...

"Good-bye, Olivia."

Her disguise was now complete as she crossed the street and walked into the bar.

Inside, wooden bars and tables seemed to fit in with the dark green walls, neon beer signs and pool clientele consisted of people wearing jeans, plaid shirts and John Deere baseball caps.

Fiona was instantly greeted with whistles and wolf calls. They were all staring at her, but she expected it at a joint like this. She took a seat at the bar and strategically placed her purse on the counter.

Immediately, a biker approached her.

"Excuse me," he smiled, showing a gold tooth, "Have we met someplace before?"

Fi needed to get rid of him.

"Maybe. That's why I don't go there anymore."

He was smart enough to realize he had been insulted.

"_Excu-use me_, B*tch!" he responded.

"You call me that name as if it's a _bad_ thing," Fi commented dryly as he huffed and walked away.

Thankfully alone again, she looked around. From Olivia's description, Fi zoomed in on Boyd, who was tending the bar. He was slightly soft with puffy features, wearing an orange Miami Marlins baseball cap. When he spotted her, he immediately flashed a smile.

Ugh, thought Fi, she could tell just by looking at him that she would have to work at not insulting his intelligence, if he had any.

She forced a smile.

He smiled salaciously back.

Oh god, _another one_. Fi hated this part of undercover work for Boyd was not only a jerk, but a top-of-the-line scum bucket jerk. And that's the good side of him.

A spy is not the only one who can do voiceovers.

(Fi's voiceover) An impatient gun and explosives expert sometimes should be able to speak _her_ mind. Undercover work is for people who want to avoid unpleasantness. Forget _that_ strategy. A specialist in physical interrogation like herself should just be herself. Forget the overt flirtatious stuff and let the bodies fall where they fall.

It saves time, too.

"Hel-_loo_," Boyd said in a tone that made it obvious he was interested "Hey, have we met before?"

"Oh _my_," said Fi sarcastically, "You keep up with smooth lines like that and I may just undo two more buttons."

Boyd gave out a boisterous, annoying laugh, "Ha ha! You've got my number all right! So, what do ya have, pretty lady?"

That's better, Fi thought.

"Beer. Anything American," Fi stated to Boyd's approval. He brought out a bottle and poured it in a mug until the foam reached the top.

"Anything else you need?" Boyd asked, "or should I say, _anyone __else_ you need?"

_Again._ Boyd's intelligence was only rivaled by garden tools.

"I might need a shower."

Two men nearby at the bar overheard and elbowed each other. Boyd noted it and was slightly irritated. Oh, he's handled skanks like her before. He would show everyone that no one makes fun of Boyd Dirksen!

He pretended to be wiping the counter near Fi when he stopped to lean into her.

"I think you should know something about me," said Boyd, with a slight smirk, "I have a VERY long tongue."

That should keep her trap shut.

The two men nearby now chuckled as they chugged their beers while nodding approvingly at the same time. Boyd joined in his cleverness with a laugh of his own, waiting for a reply from the bimbo.

Fi looked calm on the outside but inside she was simmering.

That's it. What an _Idiot Jerk_.

Fi slowly took a drink before she responded, expressionless.

"A long tongue? Well, good for you. ..Now all you need are some teeth."

"Whoaoaoaoa!" The two men and now others moaned. Boyd looked upset.

"Hey now, was that necessary?" he was not looking too friendly now.

"Well, how do you expect me to act when you practically manhandle me with your eyes and every word coming out of your mouth is sexual harassment!"

"Jesus, you sound like one of those newfangled liberated b*tches," he said with disgust. Then he added, "I can't decide if I should slap you or f*ck you!"

"Let's go with the first option," dared Fi.

Everyone within listening distance was now watching with fascination, getting Boyd's dander up even more. Who did this B*tch think she was?

He leaned over his face red, "Maybe you should leave, Skank."

"If you want me to leave, tell me about Tommy and the video, first."

He went from looking mad to a look of stunned surprise as his mouth dropped.

"Better close your mouth," suggested Fi, "or a fly may go in and come out drunk."

Boyd looked nervously about. He ignored her and continued wiping down the bar.

"If you didn't hear me about the video, I can certainly say it _louder,_" threatened Fi.

His wiping had become fast and rough and finally he threw his cloth on the counter of the bar.

"I don't know anything about anything!"

He started to turn away.

"I wouldn't go now, if I were you."

It wasn't a plea, it was a statement. When he looked back at her, Fi was holding up a hundred dollar bill. She figured anyone could be bought at a price.

Money talks. And if it did, it would say to Boyd 'you suck!'

He came over, looked at her intently, and reached over to snatch the bill from her hand. But she pulled back, just in time, making it just out of his reach. Then she took the bill and physically tore the bill in half.

Fi then slid the bill across the counter towards Boyd.

"I'll give you the other half when you tell me the information I need."

There were some ooh's and ahh's from witnesses.

Boyd wasn't going to let this little "flea" get the best of him. He reached out his thick hand and closed it over her forearm. Then he yanked her closer. His mean eyes turned into slits.

"Don't be so smart there, sexy legs," he warned, "I've had enough of your attitude. I could yell _come __and __get __her_ and you'd be laid out so fast on that pool table it'll make your head spin."

He released her, relishing the idea of seeing fear in her eyes.

She, again showed no reaction.

B*tch. _He'll show her he meant business._

He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

Fi could see a few men getting up and crowding around her. They were looking salaciously at her. One was licking his lips.

But her hand was already in her purse.

Sh whipped out her little "equalizer", the Beretta 92FS Inox. Okay, so she lied _slightly_ to Michael and brought a slightly more powerful gun than her Glock.

What would it hurt...except these no-good drunks at this bar?

She stood and flashed the gun, maneuvering it around in a semi circle, as the men slowly started backing away.

"For you computer whizzes out there, which in a place like this would be no one," Fi announced, "This gun here is the original point and click interface."

"You sure you know how to use that, Skank?" challenged Boyd.

This made Fi face forward and aim the gun at Boyd. She cocked her weapon. He realized that she was now serious. He tried to block with both his arms crossed in front of him.

"As if _that_ would ever stop a bullet," she stated with a steady hand.

Fi fired.

BANG!

She heard some people yelling as the gun exploded.

Boyd felt his hat fly off his head. She had been able to fire inbetween his raised arms and hit the front of his cap dead center, right between 'Miami' and 'Marlins'. Total silence encompassed the entire bar when Boyd reached down shakily and retrieved the hat.

"Now, you are going to tell me what I want to know, " said Fi calmly, "or the next _dead_ centered aim won't be your hat."

Fi smiled.

Some action at last.

She didn't waste her time putting on that makeup after all.

.

.

Moments earlier, Olivia had been waiting patiently in the car, wondering what was happening and whether Fi was alright.

Then she heard a gunshot from the bar.

Holy flower power! She did not delay as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the police. She knew something like this would happen! Where did Seymour get these gun-toting people? Were they professional assassins? Or worse, _deer__hunters_?

It wasn't more than two minutes that she heard sirens in the distance. She figured it was always a quick response for a call-in of "shots fired."

Olivia heaved a sigh of relief when she saw Fi walking out the front door of the bar, looking as cool as a cucumber.

Fi opened the driver's side of the car door and got in.

"We're leaving," she merely stated, as she got her key out.

"What happened?" Olivia wanted to know, "Did Boyd know anything about the videotape?"

Fi opened her purse and pulled out the video tape.

Olivia clapped happily, "Fi, you're fantastic!"

Smiling, Fi started putting the car key in the ignition.

"Ahhhh! _Stop_!" Olivia screamed, suddenly staring at the car key.

"What?" Fi looked at the key, alarmed.

"How come car keys are the only keys with teeth on BOTH sides?"

Fi looked exasperated, "And you had to _scream_ that comment?"

Olivia managed to look contrite.

"Sorry, Fiona. I discovered I scream the same way whether I'm about to be devoured by a great white shark or if a piece of seaweed touches my foot."

_"How 'bout if your left tibia is broken?_" Fi mumbled under her breath.

"What?" Olivia asked.

_"What?"_

"What?"

"Sometimes," said Fi, "I feel as though I am delivering a monologue in front of a witness."

"What?"

Fi pulled out of the parking space _fast_ as Olivia continued staring at Fi in puzzlement.

_Too bad there wasn't an eject seat, _Fi thought.

At least _her_ mission was complete. She wondered how the three guys were doing.

.

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_Please __review_


	17. Chapter 17

Left behind

Chapter 17

It had been decided by both parties to leave Seymour behind. So while Fi and Olivia had gone to the redneck bar, Michael and Sam were getting ready to confront Senator at his place of residence.

As they walked out the door, Seymour was at their side, trying to convince them to allow him to join them.

"Please! _Please_, Michael, I must go! And the reason is _not_ because I am blinded by your charms, though numerous they may be!'

Oh god.

"Razor, are you sure you want to come with us?" Michael looked tentative as all three walked out of Seymour's house, ready to get in the Charger, "You can get a little...emotional."

"Michael, Michael," tsked Seymour, "When have I ever been emotional about _anything_? Please, let me be witness to some good ass-kicking!"

"You understand," said Sam, to Seymour, "there will be no action taken, right? We'll going there just to talk."

"Either way, let me be there!" insisted Seymour, "Or, I swear, I'll have a heart attack in my_ bellybutton_ if I can't go!"

"What? no, that's' not possi-...just..._no_, " insisted Michael, "Stay here and we will be back soon."

But Seymour was determined to make one more plea.

"If you let me go..." Seymour's eyes lit up with an idea, "I will...drive us in my _awesome_ Hummer!"

Michael and Sam exchanged looks.

"You have a Hummer besides your yellow Corvette, buddy?" asked Sam, "Isn't that a gas guzzling no-no in the world of giant Muppets? I've heard that with Hummers, instead of miles per gallon, it's gallons per mile."

Seymour nodded, "Wow! That's awesomely stated, Awesome-man! But this is the Hummer HX! It's more fuel efficient, but it's just as ass kicking! I've been known to outdrive _quite_ a bad gun dealers!"

"...but we don't need to outdrive anyone, buddy," pointed out Sam.

"...not _yet_!" said Seymour, "...but... it's a Hummer, a badass _Hummer_!"

"I don't know..." stated a doubtful Michael.

"But Michael! This badass vehicle can drive through _anything!_" pointed out Seymour, "For example, one time this very same Hummer widened the drive-thru lane at a fast food restaurant!"

Michael and Sam exchanged looks again.

"Whoa...that's quite...manly," stated Sam, "Maybe we can just take a look..."

"Awesome! And keep in mind that when the Hummer hits the road," said Seymour with certainty, "cars will _scatter_ when they see this baby coming!"

Hmmm...

"A quick glance, perhaps..." Michael concurred.

They went out to the garage.

.

"Here it is!" Seymour opened one of his garages and pointed to the vehicle, "You gotta love a Hummer! It's all about an ass kicking image and attitude!"

The brawny Hummer was displayed in all its war-ready greatness, with a desert-inspired matte olive paint scheme. Seating four, there were bucket seats in the front and back seats. It was a street version of a tank.

Sam was impressed.

"You're not really as crazy as you seem, are you?" Sam asked Seymour.

"No, Awesome-man. My reality is just different from yours."

"True that!" Sam agreed

"So?" asked Seymour, with hope in his expression, "Can I come?"

Sam looked at Michael hopefully, "Mikey?"

"...and did I tell you," added Seymour, "what would happen if we see military personnel out on the street? They'll actually stop and salute!"

Boys and their toys.

Michael grinned, "Get in, guys!"

Seymour smiled as he got in the driver's seat, "Awesome, AWESOME! I'll drive this ass whooping vehicle to our destiny of destruction!"

.

.

Seymour was the driver with Michael the front passenger while Sam was situated in the back. The Hummer was unapologetically boxy and impossibly wide, due to the rugged vehicle being originally built for military use.

But those features only made the vehicle even _more_ enticing.

The vehicle's craftsmanship impressed Michael and Sam, who were busy admiring the rubberized interior, the extra console features, and the way the engine hummed. Even the smallest details like the cup holders appeared to have been designed by Russian scientists for use on the Mir Space Station.

They had been so engrossed in the Hummer, however, that they did not realize the route Seymour was taking. It took 15 minutes for Michael to realize they weren't headed the right way.

"Uh…Razor…I think you made a wrong turn, "Michael indicated, "You can perhaps make a U-turn up there."

"Sure, sure, I get what you are saying, Michael!" agreed Seymour, "but first, we gotta make one quick run!"

Uh-oh again.

"Razor, buddy," said Sam, "I hope 'quick run' means we are getting out and jogging around the Hummer."

"Hey, Awesome- Man, that's a great idea for exercise! Perhaps next time!" said Seymour, "But, actually, I just have to make this quick little gun sale..."

"No, oh, no, Razor," Michael's eyes went wide, "no, no no…"

"It'll just take a sec!" promised Seymour, "_And_ we'll get there quickly because in a Hummer, annoyances like curbs, speed bumps and signs are no longer obstacles!"

"Wha-" began Michael.

_Varoooooooom!_

The Hummer continued careening down the street, now in hyperspeed. Michael hated to admit it, but he actually missed Fi's driving. Seymour took a sharp turn.

"**Woot**!**Woot!** " yelled Seymour, as everyone slid in their seats despite wearing seatbelts, "Buckle up or buckle under!"

A spy soon learns that a Hummer is not the ideal mode of transportation because a passenger spy can't reach far enough to slap the crazed driver.

Seymour pulled up to an empty beach at last.

A beat up van was the only thing in sight. Michael looked around. No one in sight for miles around except this one ominous vehicle.

Four men emerged from the van. They were of various sizes, but all wore jeans and black shirts. They looked mean. And ugly.

It was like evolution had gone in reverse.

Michael tried to figure out who the leader was.

Spies know that in a group fight, most people mistakenly believe you should look for the weakest link. Wrong. Besides, if the guys were good and they outnumbered you, it didn't matter who was the weak link.

Seymour had already jumped out, gone to the back of the vehicle and produced a long, narrow wooden case, which probably contained weapons of some sort.

Four against two, since Michael and Sam had a non-fighting Seymour on their side. Odds did not look good, Michael registered. He just hoped the transaction went smoothly.

Michael and Sam had no choice but to get out of the vehicle, too. As he got out, Michael picked out the guy who stood the most out front as the boss. He was also carrying a case that probably contained the cash. Sure enough, he was the speaker.

"Up against the vehicle," Rochester said as he signaled to his goons, "Search them."

"Okay, but I better warn you, I'm ticklish," Sam said.

"Hey! Me, too!" agreed Seymour.

Seymour giggled as he was roughly patted down.

_"Heeheeheehee..."_

Listening to a giggle coming from Seymour almost unhinged Michael more than the four flunkies. Seymour sounded like a ginormous 'Tickle me Elmo' doll.

Then they were allowed to turn back around. Michael hoped the gun deal would run smoothly and quickly. He waited, wanting to get it over with quickly.

"That a Hummer?" asked the boss man.

Not going to happen.

"You bet, Rochester!" said Seymour proudly, "and the console is bigger than the trunk of a Buick!"

"Can we go hunting some time in the near future?" asked Rochester, as he stared at the vehicle longingly.

"Uh, aren't we here for an exchange?" Michael reminded Rochester, impatiently.

Rochester turned and sneered at Michael.

"Yeah, sure...but you ain't gonna like what I have to say." Rochester commented, "We didn't like the way Seymour's little messenger bimbo treated us on the last transaction."

Michael's eyes became wide as he recalled her words:"_I just got back from manhandling two thugs at the beach._"

"Who? Fiona?" Seymour asked.

"Whoever," said Rochester, "So we had a little discussion and we kinda decided that we only want to pay _half_ of what you wanted for what you got there,"

Rochester and his boys looked ready to back of their words.

"_Hey,_ that's not cool!" Seymour retaliated.

"Yeah? Well, welcome to the land of how-you-gonna-stop-us?"

They heard some snickering.

"Well, " threatened Seymour, "We are going to stop you by taking you down the street of shut-the-hell-up!"

Rochester and boys looked angry.

Michael was losing patience. First with Fi for putting herself in danger and now this situation. It had nothing to do with their mission. These guys were obviously not going to back down. If these thugs wanted trouble, then bring it on. The three of them needed to be on their way.

He'll put an end to this quickly.

"Are you stupid?" Michael asked Rochester.

That got Rochester's attention as he turned slowly to eye Michael. Then he took two steps forward, almost getting into Michael's face, "What? You talking to me, big mouth cowboy?"

"I don't see a horse, but I see a horse's ass, so yeah, I guess I am talking to you," replied Michael evenly.

The three thugs looked at one another, but still stood firm. Michael figured they were looking for a signal from their boss.

Rochester smiled evilly.

"I was caught unaware with the delivery B*tch, but this time, me and my boys are gonna beat the living crap out of you three."

"I figured these tire irons weren't for a top hat dance routine," Michael stated. He knew these thugs weren't going to let them walk away unscathed, no matter what anyway.

"You got that right!" bellowed Rochester asd he and his boys purposely banged one end of the tire irons on their open palms.

"So_ that's_ your master plan? Jump us with tire irons?" asked Michael, " Then what? The only way to shut us up is to kill us. You willing to go that far? What about our buddies waiting for us back at the office? They know we are meeting you here. You going to kill them too?"

"_Yeah!_" agreed Sam. He stepped up and made an exaggerated gesture of looking at each and every thug, up, down and sideways, "I have just memorized all your faces. If you do attack me, you better make sure I'm dead, because if not, I'll come after you!"

"He will! He f*cking will!" Their bravery suddenly encouraged Seymour, "and then one day, we will visit all four of you in the still of the night, and pour frickin' _kerosene_ on your crotches and boom! Set them all off with firecrackers!"

Michael didn't know if it was the adolescent boy in him, but it was hard to look serious with the images of firecrackers in their crotches.

One of the men shuffled his feet. Another sneaked a glance at the third one. Maybe it was working. Maybe the threat was enough.

Until Rochester smiled again.

Then again, maybe not.

"Ooooh. Is that a threat I hear?" he sneered, "Threats don't scare me when one side has _all_ the weapons. That makes the scoreboard: us: 4 tire irons and you: 0. Let the game begin, boys!"

Uh oh.

Michael stared down Guy Number Two. The way Michael looked at him, made Number Two feel intimidated. The thug tried to sound tough.

"What you looking at, jerk?"

"Nothing," responded Michael, " and I truly mean nothing…absolutely nothing."

Guy #2 tried to look threatening by flexing his pecs. A stupid move. It wasted too much time.

The smallest distance between two points was a straight line. Using his natural hand speed and the element of surprise, Michael shot his hand in a straight line, from where it rested to Guy Number Two's throat. Immediately Number Two's tire iron dropped.

Michael had found the guy's sweet spot…for injury.

Spies know the neck is one of the more vulnerable parts on the human body. If you hit someone in the throat, it can do some major damage.

Number Two's eyes bulged. A choking sound got locked in his throat.

The other thugs had been mesmerized by the swiftness of the move.

While they were distracted, Seymour had grabbed the tire iron from the ground and surprised Number Four by doing what he did best—scoop beating a guy like it was a jai alai tool. Seymour proceeded to hit Number Four all over while yelling his new favorite war cry: "Fingerpuppets! Fingerpuppets!"

As Seymour worked Number Four, the third guy turned to Sam. But Sam was faster as he gave him a fistful on his side. He followed it up with a kick in the groin area.

"Aw, gee," stated Sam to the pained guy, now doubled over, "I forgot to mention that if you tried to touch me, I was going to kick you in the balls."

Sam then grabbed the fallen tire iron.

Meanwhile, Michael, with almost casual ease, swept out Rochester's legs with his instep.

"Motherf*cker!" Rochester yelled as he went down. While Number two was still gasping and coughing from the karate chop to the throat, Michael grabbed Rochester by the scruff of the neck.

"Ow, let me go, let me go!" Boss man looked scared, "I take it back!"

Michael continued to drag him, "Take back _what_?"

"The name calling! I take it back! You're an _un_-Motherf*cker!"

"I hope you have all the kids you want," warned Michael with no emotion as he picked up one of the fallen tire irons, "because you won't be able to have anymore when I'm done with you!"

Rochester was obviously panicking as his arms flailed and he squealed his request.

"No, no! Look…keep your guns…_and_ take the money, too! J-Just let us be!"

Michael released Rochester who didn't care to get up.

Seymour didn't need to be told twice as he pointed viciously at Rochester, "…Remember! I better not see you guys again or there'll be a Fourth of July display in your ass-beaten pants!"

The four were moaning as Michael picked up the money bag and along with Sam and Seymour, went back in the Hummer.

"Crap.." .Sam wearily stated, "And here I thought the hardest situation we might encounter was testing this Hummer through a sand dune or riverbank.".

"I just wonder," Michael said, "has Seymour _ever_ made a _smooth_ gun sale?"

"I was thinking that same thing myself, Mikey," said Sam.

Both Michael and Sam realized they had been fortunate.

"That was awesomely awesome!" Seymour said as they drove away in the Hummer, "We sure work great as an ass whooping team! Michael! Can you teach me that killer karate chop- in –the- throat move?"

Seymour learning defensive moves was like teaching a kitty how to hide a pit bull's doggie treats. It should never be done.

"Only spies can do that, Razor, " explained Michael, "You need special clearance."

"Awww, no, really?...Wouldn't you know it?" Seymour looked slightly disappointed, "I guess I'll just keep making oodles money and let you be the one always working under the threat of being beaten up! How lucky can you get, Michael?"

"Yeah, that's me. One lucky guy, Razor."

Seymour's eyes sparkled as he looked at Michael.

" It's your destiny, Michael! You cannot avoid it! Awesome beat downs and Michael Westen go hand in hand! Like… Jack and Jill! Peanut butter and tofu! Suren and dipity! Always remember: Don't argue with destiny…_it __will __kick __your __ass!"_

Yeah, thought Michael, wearily, and right now, destiny was putting on its boots.

.

.

_Please Review_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Bradley Houston's mansion was massive. The exterior of the three- storied residence was made of gray limestone with alternating bands of rough and smooth finished stone. It was enlivened by porticos, piazzas and bay windows. There were also window panels framing the grand façade.

The gate was opened, allowing them to drive right in, but as Michael, Sam and Seymour got out, they were met by two guards or in reality, hired thugs.

One 'guard' was overly big and one was overly skinny.

A spy knows it is wise to always size up his opponents. Size and strength are not necessarily exclusive.

Michael peered at the big guy. Big was probably a wrestler in high school, although not college. No way he went to college; in fact, probably got a GED in high school. He wouldn't be able to think himself out of a paper bag.

Michael looked at the skinny guy. His initial reaction had been that with the guy's slight built, Michael had nothing to worry about. This guy made a regular nerd look Butch. But upon closer inspection, Michael did not like what he saw in the guy's eyes. They were beady and dead-looking. Michael could only describe the guy's face as too thin and too cruel.

Skinny would be the one to look out for.

"What do you want?" Big asked.

Not the friendliest of greetings.

"Leave my Livvy alone!" burst out Seymour.

Michael gestured for Seymour to stop. The skinny guy turned to Michael.

"...So you, _tough guy_, tell me, what's the purpose of your visit here? Are you the press or do you have an appointment with Senator Houston?"

"No appointment, but it'll benefit him to talk to us," Michael assured him.

Skinny lifted his hand and covered his right ear as his head went down to listen. Bluetooth. When the call was completed, he lifted his head. Then as he spoke, his voice had a mocking tone to it.

"Oh..._so_... why didn't you tell me the three of you were the infamous Michael Westen, Sam Axe and Razor?"

Michael looked all around. Obviously, there were some hidden cameras somewhere on the premises. He certainly couldn't spot them.

"…_Razor_?" Seymour looked insulted, "Only my awesome friends call me that! That's _Seymour_ to you two, because you buttheads are _not_ friends of mine! In fact, you will have to call by my full name, _Seymour O'Less!"_

"Really _that's_ your name?" asked Sam asked Seymour, "_Really_?"

"Like Fiona, I'm part Irish!" Seymour said with pride.

"I wouldn't tell Fi that," warned Sam.

"Why? Is that because she thinks no man is an Ireland?" Seymour asked.

Michael turned and focused on the two guards.

"Believe me when I tell you...Mr. Houston will want to hear what I have to say," stated Michael, purposely not giving him the title of 'senator', "we could do it nicely or we could force our way in."

"Yeah!" agreed Seymour, "The senator will want to hear what we have to say!"

Big and Skinny looked at each other and sneered.

"You don't say?" jested Skinny, "and here I thought the three of you were just pretty faces…"

"Thank you," said Sam.

"Yeah, thank you," agreed Seymour, "I'd like to think if handsome were a grain of sand, together we'd be a million beaches."

The Skinny one snorted, "Is he on drugs?"

"_Adrenalin_ is my drug of choice!" insisted Seymour.

"You three better just move along. _Senator_ Houston has just informed me that he is extremely busy. Maybe you can see him when he is elected _President._"

"That's right," backed up Big, puffing out his chest, "You three ass-holes could just turn around and leave!"

Michael gave them a regretful smile, as he slightly turned, pretending to be leaving.

Instead he wordlessly lurched forward and his knee landed squarely in the big guy's groin. Big made a sucking sound like he had just pushed his head out of the water after drowning. Just that one knee was enough for Big's body to melt and form a puddle on the ground.

"Yeah! Yeah! Give the badass attitude to him, Michael!" Seymour cheered happily.

Sam then pulled out a gun on Skinny. Instead of looking afraid, Skinny smiled, as he looked at his fallen companion, before turning back to Sam and the gun.

"Unnecessary," he merely commented.

"The gun?" asked Sam.

"No, the groin hit," he said, "Your move doesn't scare me whatsoever. I could snap my fingers and a thousand guys with full artillery could surround you three ass-holes."

"What you said may be true," said Michael, "but the groin punch was done merely so that I could feel so much better."

"Badass, through and through!" sighed Seymour.

Skinny shrugged as if he hadn't a care in the world, "So, what now…you going after my balls now, too?"

"Oh, that may be a difficult challenge," said Michael, as he also pulled out a gun, "I might not be able to find them. My gun is so much faster, more effective. Your massive group of running thugs won't be a to save your shot-out scrotum. I hope you don't consider walking a necessity."

Skinny's smile had disappeared as Michael cocked his gun and he heard Big still groaning in pain.

Skinny touched the Bluetooth in his ear and was speaking to someone in the house. Michael could not hear anything Skinny said as Seymour kept rambling on something about "awesome" and "bad ass" continually.

Skinny's voice suddenly changed.

"Please, gentlemen, follow me," said Skinny in the most cordial of voices.

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They were left in the care of the butler who answered the door. The manservant that greeted them was like a poor man's Alfred.

"Please follow me, Mr. Axe, Mr. Westen, Mr. O'Less."

This manservant had the right manners, said the right things, but he looked like he could just as easily toss bodies, tied down with cemented-blocks, in the Miami River.

They headed down a long corridor, walking in silence. Alfred Wanna-be made a right at a hallway. They entered a glass passageway.

"Mind blowing!" said Seymour, looking around the glass structure, "I gotta get the name of his designer!"

The Alfred Wanna-be now stopped and opened the door.

"You may enter. The Senator is expecting you three," he said with a bow.

Michael could smell the chlorine as well as hear the tiny splashes of water as he entered the private swim room.

"What do you know," said Sam casually, speaking to the manservant, "the one day I didn't bring my swim trunks!"

"…Oh! I usually wear a thong, myself!" stated Seymour as he, too, turned towards the butler, "You don't have an extra pair somewhere, do you?"

"The Senator is just taking his laps," pointed out Alfred wanna-be, ignoring the previous statements.

The butler or whatever he was, left. Though the pool area was elaborate, it still had that indoor pool mustiness. Just like Seymour's, everything having to do with the pool was done in marble. But whereas Seymour's had a light, expensive feel to his, this room was like how it smelled—mildewed and stuffy.

The three of them spotted a lone swimmer sliced through the water. Bradford Houston swam with easy movements. He was in excellent shape for someone in his late 40's. He reached the edge of the pool near the three men and stopped.

Houston ran his hand across his wet scalp.

"Gentlemen! Was it really necessary for you to mess with my guys out in the front?" Houston asked.

"They needed to be taught how to properly welcome people," stated Michael.

Houston looked at Michael. Both parties knew Houston had told Big and Skinny to intimidate them and Michael had showed everyone that the move had not produced the desired effect.

Houston pushed himself out of the pool in one lax motion. He grabbed a towel and motioned for everyone to sit in the chaise lounges he had surrounding the pool.

As they sat, Houston grabbed his robe and tied it at the waist before he sat down.

"Whatever the reason for your visit, I hope this won't take much of my time," Houston said in a regular voice, but there seemed to be an underlying threat, "I'm a busy man. I have a political function I need to attend to in an hour."

"You know what evil thing you did!" Seymour sounded bitter. Houston now turned to Seymour.

"Come now, Razor!" said the Senator, "We were previous business partners! Is that a way to treat a business associate?"

"Associate, my freaking ass!" Seymour blurted, "Just stop harassing my Livvy!"

The senator made a noise that sounded like a snort.

"Why Razor," he feigned surprise, "I assure you I know not what you speak of…"

Just then the manservant entered, "Ice tea, Senator?"

Houston nodded, obviously glad for the interruption, "Actually, I prefer some of that _divine_ lemonade you squeezed this morning…boys?"

He looked at the three men.

"Make mine mango tea," said Seymour.

"Bottled water, " Michael requested.

"I'll take some of that divine lemonade," stated Sam, "and make mine _extra _divine."

When the butler had left, they continued their conversation.

"Seymour," said the Senator nonchalantly, "I don't know why you are convinced I had anything to do with the bad luck your lady pal has been having lately."

Seymour seemed unable to contain himself. The anger manifested itself in a manner in which Seymour looked and spoke with true clarity.

"Oh, Senator, I know all about that video tape you want! But the public needs to hear about your scummy past! Yeah, they should! _You_ are not fit to become our freaking President! You are so full of it!"

Everyone was silent at Seymour's outburst. They were looking at the Senator's reaction.

"I see..." he said. He seemed calm, but there seemed to be tension in the air. The manservant returned with all the drinks. After he left, Senator Houston lifted his glass to the three men in a toast of some sort.

"To zany men who can think clearly at times. I never thought you had it in you, Seymour" Houston said, as he finished his toast and drank his lemonade.

Placing the tray down, the manservant took Michael's bottled water and poured it into an emptied glass. Handing it to Michael, Michael had grabbed it at an angle and too quickly; some of the water sloshed over the rim of the cup, dripping onto Seymour's lap.

"Oh, sorry, Razor," apologized Michael.

Seymour looked down at the wet spot on his lap, "Hey! Did you ever wonder why spilled water always turns a spot darker? Why is that if water is clear?"

Everyone looked baffled and then watched as the manservant took the towel and proceeded to wipe Seymour's lap.

It started Seymour on another round of giggles.

Michael had planned the distraction. The whole spilled water incident allowed Michael to plant a bug under the table.

With the clean up completed and the butler gone, Senator Houston then turned to Michael.

"Getting back to your veiled threat, Westen...You think you've got it all figured out... that you could come here and threaten my stellar reputation! If that is what you are thinking, you are sadly mistaken."

Michael did not even blink.

"We tried to be reasonable, but there is no reasoning with a man of questionable virtues. I just came here out of courtesy to tell you to leave us alone. Have a nice day, Senator."

Houston's voice was sharp, "Sit down."

Suddenly they were surrounded by six men with guns.

"I wished, "said the Senator, "You wouldn't have threaten my candidacy. If I have unsavory friends it's because I am associated with people like Seymour O'Less."

He had actually said Seymour's name with a straight face. Michael had to give him credit for that. Seymour opened his mouth to say something, but Michael put up his hand up to silence him.

"I will let you in on a secret," continued the Senator, "If you are to survive in politics, you must sometimes align yourself with some sordid elements. That's the ugly truth. The world is not all black and white like how our friend Seymour may see it."

Michael had been standing, and now Seymour and Sam stood, all three ready to leave.

"We've said what we have come to say. Goodbye, Houston," said Michael, "

"But wait, I am not done yet!" said Houston, as he gestured to Seymour, "Seymour here will stay with me as my guest of honor."

"Over my dead body!" said Seymour sounding like a petulant child.

Just then, six armed men entered, surrounding the three men.

Houston's voice was calm, but his expression was cold, "Oh, don't test me. This isn't a request. Seymour will stay here until you deliver my videotape here."

Michael had not expected that, "No, you don't need him…"

The Senator was shaking his head.

"Mr. Westen, I wanted to thank you in advance for hand delivering my video tape. I don't want to rush you…but well, there is only so long I will extend my hospitality to Seymour before it gets…well…ugly."

Seymour's eyes widened as he realized the seriousness of his dilemma.

"Michael! You're not deserting me, are you?"

Seymour looked so desperate.

"How about you take me instead?" volunteered Michael.

The Senator half sneered, "And have you wreck havoc on my bodyguards? I couldn't afford the negative publicity, this being so close to the primaries and all. No thank you. You two go. Seymour stays."

Michael and Sam exchanged looks. There was nothing they could do.

"Remember, Mr. Westen," said the Senator, "I have little patience." He then reached over and punched Seymour in his abdomen.

Both Michael and Sam lurched forward but were stopped by two of the bodyguards. The damage had been done. Seymour doubled over, coughing, tears surfacing.

"Hey! Was that really necessary?" questioned Sam irritably, "You could have just said 'Boo' and that would have scared him enough!"

The Senator smiled.

"Goodbye," he stated, looking bored as he turned away, "And don't come back until you have my video tape."

The armed guards pushed Michael back when he made another forward move towards Seymour.

"...Just wanted to say good-bye, is all," said Michael calmly. The guards looked over to the senator and when the senator nodded they let Michael through.

Michael walked over to Seymour and encouragingly patted him on the shoulder.

"Razor," said Michael in a low voice, "Don't worry, I'll come back."

Seymour kept his head down, looking like a puppy that 's been forever deserted. This made Michael squat down until he was eye level with Seymour.

"Razor?..." Michael said softly so no one else could hear, "believe me..."

Seymour looked Michael in the face as Michael started directly back at him.

"...they are going _down_..." Michael smiled encouragingly at Seymour. At last Michael saw hope in Seymour's eyes before he and Sam left.

Seymour didn't need to see them walk away, but a smile tugged at his mouth with Michael's last words.

"Let's hope your friends come back." said the Senator to Seymour, once they were gone, "because I have to admit, I am not too keen on entertaining company while trying to run a Presidential campaign."

Seymour sat back on his lounge chair. He heard something ruffling in his shirt pocket. Curiously, he reached in and took out the card that had been placed surreptitiously in there.

Scowling, Seymour looked at the business card.

Surprisingly, it was his own "Razor" business card. Realization hit Seymour. It was the card he had given Michael on that second day. Somehow, Michael had managed to secretly place it in his shirt pocket, probably when he had been saying good-bye.

_It's a signal to let me know Michael is coming back_, Seymour thought with elation in his heart. He's coming back! He cares! Michael really cares and he is coming back for me! FOR ME!

Seymour looked up at the sky to see if the heavens had opened up.

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	19. Chapter 19

Trouble

Chapter 19

Michael and Sam could do nothing but head back to Seymour's mansion. Michael dreaded telling Olivia the news that they had left Seymour behind due to the Senator's insistence.

Fi and Olivia were lounging in the pool section when Michael and Sam entered. Immediately Olivia jumped up. As she approached Michael and Sam, she tried to look beyond them, twisting her body left and right. Soon a questionable scowl appeared on her face.

"Where's Razor?" she asked, looking worried.

Her eyes got large when she noted Michael and Sam exchange unreadable looks. Michael went to her and urged her to sit back down.

"Olivia, I need to tell you something," he warned, with the most calm of voices, "And when I tell you, I want you to not get overly upset."

She nodded solemnly, "I will only get upset if the flood waters do not recede, the famine will not end or the sun does not shine tomorrow."

Oo-_kay_, thought Michael, maybe this won't be so bad after all.

He gently told her that Seymour was being held by the Senator until they bring the video to exchange. With each word that he spoke, Olivia's face got darker and her eyes seem to become more alarmed.

"No, no, _no_, " repeated Olivia, shaking her head in denial. It was obvious she was having trouble breathing, "I need Razor here with me He is the man I want to spend the rest of my weekends with!"

"Yes, but..."

"He is my air! I am his fire!" she insisted, "Without air, there is no fire. Air is what keeps the fire going, right? It keeps the flame high! Without air there would not be fire because fire needs air to get oxygen and..."

"Olivia," Michael gently interrupted, "_Pleas_e, the point?"

She looked at him with distress in her eyes.

"...he takes my breath away..."

Everyone looked puzzled.

Olivia then turned to Fi.

"Fiona, you understand, don't you?" she asked, "Razor and I…we have a special kind of love…it's the kind of love that can't be bought on ebay."

Sam shook his head in bafflement as he mumbled, "Wow, now _that's_ special."

Fi rolled her eyes at Sam who shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't listen to him," said Fi, trying to comfort Olivia, "Romance to him is when _she_ drinks from a can and not a glass."

"Oh yeah?" countered Sam, "I don't know what your problem is, Fi, but I'll try harder to be one for you."

Ignoring Sam, Fi turned back to Olivia.

"Olivia," Fi said, "Don't worry. We'll get Seymour back. We'll very good at what we do."

"Oh! Please you MUST get him back!" cried Olivia, "Oh! I wish I knew what was going to happen! But it's hard to make predictions, especially about the future..."

"—_And_ speaking of future, let's discuss that," suggested Michael, expertly steering the conversation back to the mission.

He turned to Olivia, "So do we even have the tape?"

Fi lifted her purse, "Right here."

Michael nodded. They may need it later.

"So, Mikey," said Sam, "Are we actually going to make the exchange of the tape for Seymour?"

"I've thought about it. But, you know, Sam, we can't let that sleazebag senator get away with all the bad he's done. He has to held accountable."

"Why not just storm Houston's place then?" asked Fi with hope in her eyes.

"No, " said Michael, "I think-

"Oh! Razor!" Olivia was distraught, "My poor Razor! You know, from the start, our love was like a newly cleaned glass door...we didn't see it until it smacked us right in our faces!"

"That explains so much," commented Sam.

"Don't pay attention to him," stated Fi, "His sole purpose in life is to serve as a warning to others."

"Oh Fi," said Sam, "You make everyone laugh except when you're joking."

Sam then turned to Michael, "Anyway, Mikey, tell me there's a plan..."

"We planted a bug at the Senator's house, remember? " reminded Michael, "from there, we should be able to ascertain where they are hiding Seymour, or at least the Senator might say something to incriminate himself.."

"So-o, you don't think Seymour is at the Senator's residence?" asked Sam.

"Oh, Houston is too smart for that, " explained Michael, " he wouldn't hold Seymour at his place…too many things could go wrong and Houston is a future Presidential candidate, after all. No, he'll have him stashed away somewhere only remotely connected with him...Sam..."

"Yeah, I'm one step ahead of you, buddy," Sam said, "You want me to use my contacts to find all of the senator's business holdings. Chances are, Seymour will be holed up in one of those buildings."

Michael nodded, "The more isolated the building, the better the chance. And Fi..."

"Got it, Michael" said Fi calmly, "You want me to get ready the cache of equipment and weapons we will need for Operation: Seymour."

"Ri-ght." Michael smiled.

"What about me?" asked a hopeful Olivia, "I guess I won't be coming, will I? You, like everyone else, think I'm just a scatterbrain...that I'm just crazy..."

Olivia looked crestfallen, especially when no one spoke up to deny her statement. At last Michael walked over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Olivia," he asked gently, "What sane person could live in this world and _not_ be crazy? Don't worry. We will get your Seymour back."

Olivia looked up, with a smile on her face.

"Thank you," she said appreciatively, "I just wanted you to know...because of Seymour, I 've learned that from this ordinary life, a fairytale was given to me."

Her words touched Michael and he knew that if it was the last thing he did, he was going to bring Seymour home to her.

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(In another part of town...)

Seymour tried to stir himself to consciousness.

Ow! My freaking head! He thought to himself.

His eyes felt as if they had been taped shut. Were his eyes actually closed or was he just looking at his eyelids?

Someone had wrapped something sticky around his mouth so he couldn't talk. That didn't make any sense. That wasn't what tape was used for!

Maybe he was a gift for someone.

Seymour's head pounded.

Wait! He remember something! George Clooney was at the Senator's residence and had inoculated him with a needle! He had been immunized!

Outside, he could hear activity outside. Heavy vehicles humming. The sounds of cranes and other machinery. People shouting. Sounded like work was happening and he was above some type of busy docking area.

Stop. George Clooney was a _bad_ guy, not the Red Cross. Seymour's mind felt cloudy, but he wasn't sure if it was cloudy because of the drug or because, well, _because_.

As he changed positions, he heard his business card moving about his pocket. _Michael_. When would Michael kick down the door and save him?

And then his thoughts drifted to Olivia. Ah, lovely Olivia. He missed her now like some people miss Starbucks in the morning.

Maybe he was dreaming this awful dream. No, that couldn't be it, because in his fantasy, Michael would have already kicked down the door—and maybe even carried Seymour out! Besides, he never dreamed of sounds with no vision…well, except that one crazy night…

He was lying on the cold, hard floor with his eyes still closed. He realized his hands had been handcuffed together in front and his wrists hurt. In fact, his whole body felt sore. He tried to sit up to do some yoga, but it was as if his muscles could not move.

Finally he was able to sit up and scoot himself against the wall. This was so-o un-awesome, man. Once Michael finds out, he'll beat these guys to a pulp! He thought with satisfaction.

With a struggle, Seymour's eyes fluttered opened and he took in his surroundings. Small room. Barren. Dirty. Hey, just like his first apartment, when he was starting out making bebe gun deals!

Seymour hated the taste of the masking tape on his mouth.

What he wouldn't give for a mango smoothie now.

He noted the peeling paint on the wall and a single lightbulb screwed on the ceiling. A broken table with two wooden chairs were thrown in the corner with a rusted radiator against one wall. Definitely looking more like his first apartment.

His eyes continued to scan for any clues of where he was when suddenly they stopped at something next to the door.

_Holy serendipity! Brother of the Universe!_

Jammed right above the door was what looked like dynamite.

He wished Fi were here to confirm it. No, better yet, she were here to disarm it.

_Now_ Seymour was thinking! His mind was getting less cloudy, more misty. Oh, zen of the world, everyone complains about the weather, but does anyone ever do anything about it?

Okay, even _he_ realized he was being sidetracked. Again. Not awesome. Look at the dynamite, not think about the atmospheric conditions. Hmmm….

Seymour stared at the dynamite above the door and decided he _didn't _want Michael to burst through the door... And look! Michael didn't come through the door! Michael is safe! The man is a genius! He is so freaking awesome!

The room was stifling hot, well past tropical temperature, the air thick and still. Seymour was sweating through his clothes. He shifted to get comfortable. A paper that had been laying on the floor moved. Seymour looked down.

_Hello, Razor,_

_Welcome to the land of consciousness, or as close as it will be for you. I hope you are not too uncomfortable. Do not try to escape. You will be blown to pieces. If anyone tries to save you, you will be blown to pieces. Enjoy your time of being in one piece._

I'm living a nightmare, thought Seymour, oh I've had worst…that time in downtown Jacksonville… but still...

A connecting door behind him opened. It was George-Lenny Sanderson.

"Well, Seymour, " said Lenny, "I see we're awake at last. Did you read my note? I'm sorry…I forgot to ask—can you read?"

Seymour glared at him.

George-Lenny grabbed the chair from the corner from the corner and sat down backwards on it. "You look confused—more confused than usual, so let me explain. My people want that video. So we are going to make an exchange. You are here because Westen is a very clever man."

Seymour's face lit up at the mention of Michael's name.

George-Lenny then stood up.

"I want to talk business with you. If everyone does what they are suppose to do, no really bad harm will come to you and you will be free soon. But everytime there is a misstep, you will pay the price, understand? Let me give you an example."

He came over and without warning, his hand shot out at Seymour's nose. Seymour let out a muffled sound as the knuckles landed squarely on his nose. Seymour heard a crunching sound. Blood trickled out. Even Jacksonville wasn't this painful.

Seymour could not breathe out his nose. When he breathed, it made a sucking noise.

"Here, let me help you," said George as he reached over and Seymour winced, knowing additional pain was forthcoming. But George-Lenny merely removed the tape from his mouth.

Seymour at last was able to breathe out of his mouth.

Lenny smiled at Seymour's misery.

"I suppose you must be feeling pretty angry now, what with your friends deserting you, an unscrupulous Senator and now, most of all, me..."

Seymour was working hard at breathing through his mouth, "Anger, man? No, not anger...anger would blow out the lamp of my mind!"

Lenny Sanderson chuckled.

"Aren't _we_ philosophical?" said a pleased Lenny.

"No, not _we_, just _me_," insisted Seymour, "And as for you...you are not worth ruining my paradise!"

"Oh, Seymour," jested Sanderson, "seems like you're getting smarter by the minute!"

Seymour was heaving as he tried to let in some more air, "If...I got awesomely smarter...how would _you_ ever know?"

That wiped the smile off Sanderson's face. He was all business again.

"So far, I have been easy with you...I've only broken your nose," George explained, "But, if you try to warn others by yelling, I will break your jaw before you finish screaming. My boys are all around, and if they hear you, I will detonate the bomb."

George-Lenny pointed to the sticks of dynamite, and then he showed his detonator.

"You see, Seymour, I am pretty good with explosives. If the police—or Westen—by some miracle finds you…Ka-BOOM! You'll be confetti. Blood, pieces of limbs, scattered skin, very messy. You got that?"

Blood…scattered skin. Seymour didn't even like to look at sashimi.

Maybe instead of going through the door, Michael could fly in through the window, thought Seymour.

Lenny was observing Seymour closely, "You certainly don't look worried for a man that may not even live through another day."

_Michael,_ whispered Seymour in his mind, he just had to think about Michael as he spoke to George-Lenny.

"If I cannot change my fate, I will change my attitude!"

And as if George-Lenny could read Seymour's mind, "Forget about Westen. It will be impossible for him to get you and live. If he does come here, I'll be sure to discourage him. I don't think he'll think you're worth it."

"You are freaking WRONG!" Seymour's voice sounded strange with his nose broken. He sounded congested, "Michael will never give up on rescuing me! He is the fish to my water!"

"Well, then," responded George-Lenny Sanderson evilly, "Consider me the shark..."

Seymour decided to ignore George-Lenny.

By now, Seymour's nose was really hurting. But he had to keep his mind clear for the 'Westen Rescue." Luckily he learned discipline through meditation.

His mind kept running the same four letters in his mind: WWMD: 'What would Michael do?' And then his mind drifted to the thought that those letters could also stand for 'World Wide Mango Drink'. whichever way, somehow both thoughts seemed to calm his nerves.

That and thinking about the deer falling down the waterfall.

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	20. Chapter 20

Operation: Rescue Seymour

Chapter 20

The Port of Miami was a seaport located in Biscayne Bay. Known as the "Cargo Gateway of America" the port primarily handled containerized cargo.

Senator Bradley Houston was an owner of one of the warehouses in the shipping port. Tucked away in an obscure area, the almost emptied building was continually monitored, with only authorized personnel allowed in.

And it made it the perfect place to hide Seymour.

Inside the place was a series of offices or storage rooms. Next door to the abandoned room that they had kept Seymour, George/Lenny Sanderson was on the phone with the Senator.

Sanderson held the phone close to his ear, trying to hold in his frustrations.

"I don't think the drug I've injected in him is working!" complained Sanderson to his boss, "That Seymour is driving me insane! I can't take anymore of his goddamn gibberish!"

"So, ignore him, then," suggested the Senator calmly.

"_Ignore him?_" Sanderson was indignant, "Sh*t! You come here and try to ignore his ramblings! Just minutes earlier he dared me to go ahead and throw him in the ocean because not only will he not drown, he will emerge with a fish in his mouth! Did you hear what I just said? A fish! What the hell?"

"Maybe you should stop administering the drug," suggested the Senator.

"_Stop it_?" complained Sanderson, "that's the only thing keeping him lucid! Otherwise he'd probably say he'd emerge from the ocean with a plunger in his mouth!"

"You're right about that," agreed the Senator, "He may know his guns, but the man's a complete idiot."

"…I think I should just off'd him now," Sanderson proposed.

He heard an impatient sigh coming from the Senator.

"No, Sanderson, dammit! That wasn't the plan and you know it!" strongly exclaimed the Senator, "I told you to just hold him there! HOLD HIM THERE! And he better be in good condition, too! I can't have anything connected to a murder on my hands!"

"Relax!" said Sanderson, impatiently, "_I'm_ doing all the dirty work here, remember? So don't go telling me what to do, you hear me?"

Frustration showed on the Senator's face as his forehead furrowed.

"What the f*ck is wrong with you?" the Senator demanded to know, "Remember, I am _paying you_ to do your job! All you have to do is babysit an idiot! Why is that so goddamn hard for you to do?"

"You shouldn't talk to me like that after I shut up Tommy for you!" Sanderson rebounded.

"Dammit, I didn't mean like _that_!"

The Senator tried to calm down by taking a deep breath. That moron Sanderson! He wasn't suppose to _kill_ Tommy! He had hired Sanderson to find where the tape was hidden. Yeah, sure, Houston _did_ tell him to find the video at all costs, but Sanderson was suppose to know better; he was suppose to be a professional.

Some professional. Sanderson was the typical thug who had muscles for brains. And violent muscles at that.

Bradley Houston thought he could trust Sanderson to hold Seymour at the warehouse. But he was losing control of Sanderson and if there's one thing the Senator hated was losing control of a situation.

Perhaps it was best he let Seymour go.

The Senator could simply explain to Seymour that he had retained Seymour here to keep him safe from some dangerous gun runners that had recently arrived to Miami. Yeah, that's it. That Yoga Idiot would believe any idea Houston put in his head.

A decision was made.

Senator Houston would just forget about that incriminating video. If it surfaces, his PR people will just spin it that it wasn't him in that video. They were good at that kind of stuff. Why, with their talent, they could probably convince the Pope that he wasn't religious. Houston chuckled at his own humor.

"Hey, you still there, Senator?"

Dammit, thought the Senator, this Sanderson he had hired was turning all psycho on him. Sanderson obviously had a violent streak. First he killed Tommy, and now it seemed Seymour was headed to the same fate. Houston needed to cut all ties with him, distance himself from this crazy killer.

Future Presidents do not have murderers on the payroll.

"Yes, I'm here, Lenny," sighed the Senator, "...and I've decided to let Seymour go."

Sanderson exploded with anger.

"Are you f*cking with me, Houston? Crazy Seymour is a liability!" Sanderson was saying, "I can easily make it look like a accident! He's seen too much!Who will miss him? "

Houston gripped his phone tightly. God dammit! God dammit!

"You think someone like Westen will let it go?" snapped the Senator, "haven't you _heard_ the stories about him? He's relentless! We'd never be free of him!"

"Not if he's dead, too."

The Senator worriedly ran his hand through his hair.

Bodies were adding up.

"No! Sanderson! You will listen to me! You need to bring Seymour back here, _now!_ I made it clear—"

Sanderson hung up the phone.

His employer was unraveling, Sanderson thought. Maybe Houston was giving too much thought to the presidential bid. That damn Senator expected him, Lenny Sanderson, to release a goddamn _prisoner_! Prisoners aren't released! They're punished and then killed!

The Senator was getting soft.

And ungrateful, too, thought Sanderson, because now that he thought about it, Senator Houston never even thanked him for getting rid of Tommy! What an the ungrateful bastard!

He was disgustedly recalling how Westen got away from him at that nightclub. Damn! He thought about Seymour, wondering what Michael saw in trying to save him. From the desk drawer, Sanderson pulled out a hypodermic needle and a liquid form of Salvia divinorum, a hallucinatory drug.

Time for Seymour's little fun shoot- up, Lenny thought. Smiling to himself, he decided this time he would double the dosage into the syringe. Seymour was going to have the time of his life, he maliciously thought.

That stupid Senator did not understand how to manipulate people to his own advantage, Sanderson thought, well, Senator Dummy can just go to hell!

And it was at that moment that Lenny Sanderson realized he was out on his own. And the more he thought of it, the more he liked the idea.

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.

Michael, Fi and Sam had driven to the Port of Miami. They left the car and hid in some bushes located out the outskirts of the warehouse From where they were crouched, they had a limited view of Houston's warehouse, a long white old building that could have been a factory in its younger days.

Earlier, Michael had Sam get a floor plan of the warehouse that Bradley Houston leased. Michael had memorized the floor plan in his head, just in case.

Sam also had done a background check on Lenny Sanderson and it turned out Sanderson had received a dishonorable discharge from the army, due to failing his latest psyche evaluation. The bad news regarding his file was that while in the service, Sanderson had been a demolitions expert.

Michael hoped explosives were not involved in all of this as he peered through his binoculars, trying to note any suspicious activities.

He counted four men wandering around the premises.

Michael maneuvered his binoculars around until it settled on the warehouse itself. There seemed to be only one room with the blinds all the way down and closed. It was the room at the very end. It stood to reason that Sanderson and his goons would have picked the most isolated place in the building to hide Seymour.

"So what's the plan, Michael?" Fi asked.

Michael explained what needed to be done.

Team Westen was ready for action.

Sam made a call pretending to be a Port Authority official, saying there were some papers that needed to be signed regarding a renewed lease. The owner, Houston, gave Sanderson authority to sign the papers, but Sanderson would need to drive to their downtown headquarters in order to sign the papers. Sam played up the part that only Sanderson could handle the situation.

Sanderson seemed pleased that the Senator had given him the authority. He liked the extra power. Maybe the Senator was extending an olive branch to him, he thought smugly. It was about time the Senator had smartened up!

Through his binoculars Michael noted the position of the other four other people guarding the place. It was alleged, though never proven, that Houston imported illegal contrabands through this warehouse. The rumors must be true; otherwise, why keep so guards on duty for a supposedly _empty_ warehouse?

But that was not part of Michael's concern. Right now, he had to get Sanderson out of the way.

Still looking through the binoculars, Michael had Sanderson in his sights now, and his eyes followed Sanderson getting in the car and driving away.

"…_and..._ Sanderson is gone," Michael announced, as he lowered his binoculars.

Spies know the best way to succeed on a difficult job is to divide it into many parts and resolve each section one by one. Just be sure none of those parts include a bomb exploding or you will never get to the next part of your mission.

Michael had it all worked out. Decide which room Seymour was being retained. Check. Get Sanderson out of the facility. Check. Get into secure facility. Future Check. Get Seymour out without being blown to smithereens. Wish on a lucky star and then check.

Fi was looking all around the activity on site, "More trouble ahead, Michael," she warned.

What now? thought Michael... more guards?

"No, but see that satellite on the roof up there?"Fi pointed out, "Looks to be some kind of jamming device. I don't think we'll be able to communicate with you as long as you're in the building."

That was not good.

"So Mikey, if we can't talk back and forth," asked Sam, "how will you let us know if there is an explosive device in the room they're holding Seymour in?"

"Once I get in the room, if I raise and lower the blinds, you'll know there are dangerous explosives inside. Therefore, do not approach the building," Michael advised, "And only when I raise it again will you know the coast is clear."

Sam nodded, "Got it."

Michael already had on the same overalls that the warehouse workers had on, the one that had the logo "Houston Shipping Inc." sewn on the upper left chest. From his back pocket he whipped out the uniformed cap and positioned it on top of his head. He also put on his sunglasses. His simple disguise was complete.

"I'm ready to go in."

As Michael stood ready to go, a female voice called out his name, causing him to look her way.

Fiona.

She gazed up at him, a look of concern reflected in her eyes. As Michael watched her expression, his resolve softened a bit. He crouched down again so that he was level with her once again and gave her a reassuring smile.

She automatically reached over and possessively placed her hand over his.

"Michael, be safe," she said softly, wistfully.

Michael reached out and turned his face into her hair as he embraced her. He counted himself lucky that so far he had survived whatever danger was thrown at him. Sometimes he wondered how long his luck would hold out.

And the one constant that always kept him going, that kept him mentally strong, was the thought that at the end of the job, he would come home to Fi.

He drew back, looking right into her eyes.

"Fi, you look so worried. You're not scared to be left here, are you?" he teased.

He could feel her bristle, "If I show concern, Michael, it's certainly not for me! I can more than handle myself! I just worry that _you_ won't be able to manage yourself out there without _m_e."

That self-assured quality of hers made Michael smile, "Don't worry, Fi. I'll be back before you know it," he said.

Michael looked at her with such longing that a slight flush came over her face.

He was thinking that she had the most beautiful soft skin and the most intelligent eyes of anyone he's met. His eyes dropped to her tempting mouth, soft, rose-tinted and nicely curved.

Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck, touching her lips to the corner of his. Her soft mouth burned his. Michael could no longer control his response than stop the world from spinning. His head dove down and he caught her mouth with his, kissing her passionately.

"Ah geez," Sam's voice could be heard through the romantic fog, "give me some space, and I don't mean NASA!"

Michael and Fi separated.

"Sometimes, " said Sam, "I think you two get so close to each other so that you can't see what is wrong with the other person!"

Fi's eyes never wavered from Michael's as she managed to keep a straight face, although her bottom lip was slightly trembling.

"If you must know, Sam, I wasn't even kissing him. I was telling Michael a secret with my lips."

"Well, then, you must be a rocket scientist because the instructions seemed quite complex."

"Sam, "said Michael, feeling his cheeks slightly warm, as he turned to his friend, "You'll know what it'll feel like when _you_ are in a steady relationship."

Sam looked surprised, "Hey! You don't think I've experienced that, Mikey? Hell, I've been in a steady relationship before, and it was the best two and a half days in my life!"

Michael was grinning as he stood up again, "Come on, Sam, let's go do our parts."

Fi watched as Michael and Sam walked away. The two most important men in her life. They both owned a part of her heart. Michael had a way of touching her heart and Sam…well…Sam had a way of annoyingly poking her heart.

Michael and Sam had covertly positioned themselves behind the building now. Plastering their backs up against the building, they waited. Soon enough, they heard footsteps just beyond them coming their way. Sam turned to give Michael one last look as Michael nodded back.

It was time to bring Seymour home.

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_Please review_.


	21. Chapter 21

The Encounter

Chapter 21

Michael and Sam remained hidden, their backs against the wall of the warehouse.

They could hear footsteps approaching. One of the four warehouse guards was headed their way. When he was almost past them, Sam grabbed him in a chokehold and placed a cloth saturated with chlorophyll to the nose of the struggling guard.

"Hey…Buddy," spoke Sam in the ear of the struggling man, "Tell me something…does this rag smell like chlorophyll to you?"

It didn't take long for the man's body to stop fighting and go limp. Sam and Michael dragged him behind some bushes and Michael grabbed the man's ID card from around his neck.

Michael confidently walked into the warehouse. He knew from the floor plan which way to look for the guard desk. Flashing his card, the guard nodded and Michael assuredly turned left into a somewhat dimmed hallway.

With careful steps, Michael reached the last door in the hallway, presumably, the one that held Seymour. He took a small flashlight from his pocket and shined a ray of light all around the slit opening of the door.

He stopped when he noted a dark shadow blocking the light from the slit on top of the door. This obstruction meant something was placed above the door from the inside.

A spy knows that in order to open a door, it must be free of obstacles. Of course, a preschooler also knows that,too. However, what a spy has over a preschooler is that he also knows that anything blocking an entrance is probably more a bad thing than a good thing. A preschooler would probably open the door just the same. Not a spy. That's why preschoolers must eventually go to school.

Looking at the door, Michael surmised that knowing Sanderson's background, the possibility of explosives being planted in the room just shot through the roof, excuse the pun.

If Michael were to open that door, the unstable bomb could go off. Sanderson also probably had a remote detonating device with him as well.

There had to be a way for people to get in and out of Seymour's room to give him breaks or bring him food without setting off the bomb. Michael looked at the door next to Seymour's room.

A connecting door would work just fine.

He would get in through the adjoining room and hope the connecting door was free of explosives. Taking out two metal thin spikes of different sizes that looked like gigantic sewing pins, Michael maneuvered the two pins in the lock until a click could be heard. He turned the knob and went in.

The room he entered was obviously a storage room, the only furniture being a whole row of locked file cabinets and an old writing desk and chair. Michael wasn't interested in any of this as he went directly to the connecting door.

Just in case, he ran his flashlight around the perimeter of the connecting door. It seemed clear.

Putting his hand on the knob, he shut his eyes for a split second before he turned the knob. His and Seymour's life were dependent on a cheap, mini- flashlight.

He turned the knob, It merely clicked; Michael was able to breathe again.

.

.

The rumble of the car's engine could be heard as Sanderson continued driving as he made a cellphone call. He was connected to the Port Authority office headquarters.

The conversation of him needing to drive downtown to supposedly sign leasing papers just didn't sound right. As he listened to the person in charge in the leasing office, his face turned red with rage as he shut his cellphone and cussed outloud in his vehicle.

_"God dammit!_"

His hunch was right.

There was no official named Chuck Finley who worked there. If only he had trusted his first instinct. Now he realized that it was a scheme to get him away from the warehouse.

He was willing to bet that Westen was behind all this.

_Damn._

The car made skid marks as he hurriedly completed the U- turn, his car tires screeching as he headed back to the warehouse.

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Michael cautiously opened the connecting door, not knowing what he was going to find behind it.

The heat in the room was sweltering and it felt like a sauna on overdrive. The dilapidated room reeked of sweat and mustiness, but all Michael could feel was relief, for he instantly spotted Seymour leaned tiredly against the wall.

At the sound of the door opening, Seymour looked up through bleary eyes at the sight of Michael.

Michael had expected Seymour to leap at the sight of him, to pledge his undying loyalty, but it was obvious from Seymour's reaction that he was not in good shape.

A slight smile rose to Seymour's dry lips when he spotted Michael. Seymour's speech was slow and he made great effort to speak. Even the tone of his voice sounded droopy.

"M-Mi-chael... you came... like I _knew_ you would. He-ey. Awesome, man."

Michael's insides turned a little at how thin and ragged Seymour appeared, his energy and zest completely gone.

Michael raced over and crouched next to Seymour. Upon closer observation, he noted Seymour's nose was swollen with surrounding black and blue marks. His clothes were all splattered with streaks of blood. Michael glanced down and saw a needle mark in Seymour's arm.

So on top of being beaten up, Sanderson had also drugged him.

Michael couldn't believe he was thinking this, but he was going to punish Sanderson if it was the last thing he did.

"Seymour, " asked Michael, gently, "Are you okay?"

"Did I ever tell you I love the sound of your voice, Michael? It's..so...I don't know..."

Seymour scrunched his face, trying to think of an appropriate word.

"...badass?" asked Michael, hoping the use of a familiar word would entice him to talk more.

Seymour managed a smile.

"Oh, Michael...good word...maybe I'll use it one day..."

Michael looked concerned.

"Seymour, Do you have any strength in your body? Are you in pain?"

Seymour looked exhausted and was struggling just to comprehend.

"W-what? Is…this some sort of test? Like in school? Not awesome, this test. I do better with true and false questions, Michael."

Even saying those few phrases seemed to knock the wind out of him.

Michael felt Seymour's limbs to see if anything were broken. For once, Seymour didn't break down in a fit of giggles from being ticklish and that made Michael even more concerned about his health. Good, evaluated Michael, nothing was broken except his nose. That meant Seymour would be capable of walking out himself.

"Seymour," Michael attempted again as his voice sounded soothing, "When we get you back we'll get some food into you, okay?"

"Food? " Seymour slowly forced his head up to look at Michael, "I wanted an awesome mango smoothie earlier. I asked Geroge-Lenny for one, but he wouldn't get one... the freaking cheapskate... "

Michael tried to remain lighthearted, "I bet he was at that."

Seymour nodded, "But I didn't leave...oh no...because... I was waiting for you to come get me..."

And then his head drooped slightly as if he were exhausted. Michael couldn't believe that his own eyes got a little misty at the thought of what Seymour must have endured. He reached over and touched Seymour's arm and looked him right in the eyes as he spoke with quiet conviction.

"Seymour...Seymour...are you listening to me? I'm going to get you out of here…you know that, right?"

Seymour managed to push his head back up and a little light sparkled in his eyes, "Michael, you care! ...the business card you left me was...a sign...like we were meant to be, right, Michael?"

Seymour looked so helpless and Michael always did have a soft heart for the under-advantaged.

"Yes, Seymour, "said Michael, tenderly, as he patted Seymour's arm, "It's us against the world, isn't it?"

Seymour took a deep breath.

"We're so badass, Michael..._badass_..."

Michael gave an encouraging grin, "we are at that, Seymour."

"Yeah, " Seymour nodded slowly, "Together, you and I will thrash the bad dudes so hard...that when they cross the street...they will be able to look both ways _at once_..right, Michael?"

The nonsensical statement actually made Michael smiled. There's still a little part of Seymour the bad guy couldn't get to.

"Yeah, sure...Razor, " Michael replied, as he now turned to look the room over. From where he crouched, his eyes calmly took in everything.._.including_ the explosives over the door.

Damn.

Michael needed to see if he could disarm them. As he started to get up ,Seymour tugged at his arm, making Michael look down. Seymour's eyes were pleading and sweat had pasted his unruly hair against his forehead.

"Michael, are you leaving me? _Already_? I understand...but before you do...first answer me this...People know the speed of light... but do they know the speed of dark? If you could tell me... that would be awesome!"

"Seymour, I'm not leaving," Michael reassured him, "I just need to check something and then I'll be back, lightening quick, I promise, okay? "

Seymour nodded, "Okay...and speaking of lightening... why does lightening zigzag?"

Michael nodded and touched Seymour again on the arm before walking away. He strode over to the window shade, opening and closing it one time to signal Sam and Fi to stay away.

From where he stood by the window, Michael glanced back over at Seymour .

"...And why is the alphabet... in that particular order?" Seymour's voice was faint as he spoke to himself, "Is it because of that A-B-C song?"

Next taking a chair and placing it right next to the door, Michael stood up on the chair in order to examine the explosives. He breathed easier when he could see that the explosives were not on a timer. That was good. That meant it was only controlled by a remote control.

Unfortunately, there would be no way he could dismantle the bomb. He had not seen this type of homemade explosives before and all the wires sticking out of it were of the same color, making them undistinguishable from one another.

He could not take the chance of being wrong. Or perhaps he could, as he reached out and touched one of the wires.

Michael took a quick glance at Seymour, who took notice of Michael's eyes on him.

"Hi Michael." Seymour used the rest of his strength to keep his head up and grin, "When did you get here?"

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From the bushes, Sam was looking with his own binoculars at the warehouse and noticed the window signal from Michael telling him that there was indeed an explosive device in Seymour's room.

Fi was crouched next to him, watching through Michael's binoculars in the other direction, towards the empty road.

"Well, _that's_ not good," said Sam, from what he observed at the warehouse window, "Mikey just pulled the blinds down, letting us know that there are some explosives set up in Seymour's room."

"Let me add to that bad news," said Fi, still looking down the road through binoculars, "I see Sanderson's car headed back this way."

Sam looked alarm as he brought his binoculars down, "_Crap_. It's too soon! Mikey is still in the warehouse!"

She put her binoculars down and looked at Sam, already with a plan, "We should overtake Sanderson, Sam. Before he reaches the warehouse."

Sam shook his head, "I told you that Mikey just signaled us that the room is full on explosives. Chances are, Sanderson has a detonating device with him. Knowing him, he may be crazy enough to kill us all."

"We don't have to physically overtake him," Fi suggested, "I could just shoot him through the heart before he has time to react."

"You're willing to take that risk?" asked Sam, "What if Sanderson's thumb is on the button when you shoot him? Michael will be instant cremation. And shooting someone in the heart from a distance will definitely not be ruled a suicide. It's outright murder and can be traced back to us. You do realize that killing someone is illegal, right?"

Fi shrugged.

"The way I see it, nothing is illegal unless you get caught."

Sam stared at her, "Remind me to always be your friend."

"Agreed " nodded Fi, "In fact Sam, you are such a friend, that if someone ever pulled a gun on the two of us and he insisted on shooting one of us…I'd missed you a lot and think of you often."

"Ditto for me, sister!" Sam rebounded.

Fi sighed as she lovingly touched her weapon, "Sometimes I think you and Michael hold me back."

"You got that right, " said Sam, "And I'll keep holding you back, because you know what, Fi? I will always be a good friend to you."

Fi stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to fall, "And?"

Sam shrugged.

" And nothing. I'm your friend. A very good friend. Somebody once said a friend will help you move, but a good friend will help you move a body."

Fi smiled, "That 'somebody' was me and that was actually the plan we had carried out on at Seymour's mansion, remember? So may I shoot Sanderson or not?"

"No Fi, I think at this point," said Sam, indicating with his head back towards the warehouse, " it's _all up to Mikey_."

Sam took out his cellphone. He thought he better warn the local authorities to what was happening. It was only fair they they knew when part of their city was being blown up.

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.

Michael was now cajoling Seymour to make the escape.

"We have to go, Razor," insisted Michael gently, "we need to get out of here."

Seymour wearily looked up as Michael struggled to get him up, but Seymour felt like dead weight. He did not seem to be making a move.

"Why, Michael? I'm happy...being here with you..."

"Because," urged Michael, "We need to get home... Olivia's waiting for us."

At the sound of Olivia's name, Seymour brightened, "Livvy?"

"Yes! Livvy! Come on Razor, " encouraged Michael, "Here, lean on my shoulder."

"…With awesome pleasure!" Seymour seemed to be coming out of his fog.

With a lot of help from Michael, Seymour managed to stand and hook his arm over Michael's shoulder. His legs were wobbly, but he was able to take a step forward.

"That's it," said Michael, trying to hurry him, yet knowing he couldn't, "You're as good as home."

Seymour moved another step, "Hey, I like getting this close to you, Michael!"

"Remember, " cautioned Michael, "to just keep your other hand to your side, Razor."

"Okay...Michael...my awesome hero..."

Seymour gave Michael at look of pure delight.

Also, Razor...when you look back on this, remember one thing: you were delirious; this never happened."

"Okay, Michael" said Seymour clinging tighter, "This was _all_ in my imagination...except the part where I am in your arms as you whisk me away from danger."

Michael willed himself not to drop Seymour who took another step with his assistance.

Then Michael heard it.

The click of a gun.

He looked up. Sanderson had mysteriously appeared from seemingly nowhere. He had a gun in one hand and in his other hand he held the detonation device.

"Hello, boys," he sneered, "going somewhere?"

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_Please review_


	22. Chapter 22

Bargaining

Chapter 22

(Five minutes earlier)

Seymour was in a hazy daze. He had his arm around Michael bulging shoulder muscles, but everything was so fuzzy... well, except his arm around Michael's shoulder. That will be etched in his mind forever.

As Michael tried to help the two of them out, Seymour's mind began drifting, fantasizing, in fact.

_He imagines himself standing alone in the food court at the mall._

_There is a long line at McDonald's. A patron nefariously steps away from the line, holding a suspicious item in his hand._

_Seymour gasps. _

_It's George-Lenny with a bag of fries, sprinkled not with salt, but with **bad drugs**! _

_Pulling back his throwing arm, George-Lenny is intent on throwing one of those lethal fries at Seymour!_

_In shock, Seymour stands immobile, but slowly he turns his head when someone catches his attention._

_Mango Mama!_

_ From behind the nearby taco stand Seymour spots Michael...in a clever disguise, no less! Wearing a sombrero and poncho with a thick mustache taped above his mouth, Michael sees the fast food danger._

_Michael must rescue Seymour **at once**!_

_In one giant leap, Michael jumps over the taco stand counter, somehow managing to only knock over one of the salsa bottles!_

_Awesome!_

_As Seymour's eyes follow Michael's movements, the undercover spy is sprinting towards Geroge-Lenny._

_"To eternity and beyond!" he hears Michael yell._

_Michael is now close enough for Seymour to make out the name-tag pinned on Michael's poncho:_

_ "Mike W., Taco Bell Mgr." _

_Michael,** Manager?** Awesome!_ sidetracked Seymour; _when this is over, Seymour will apply to be the assistant manager!_

_George-Lenny hurls the deadly fry towards Seymour. The thrown fry sails through the air in Matrix-style slow- motion. Seymour is stricken with horror; __Michael will not make it in time to save him!_

_ Michael also quickly sizes up the situation._

_A snap judgement is made._

_Hurriedly__ Michael closes the distance by sliding down on his stomach like a seal, clear across the smooth mall floor, right in the path of the tossed fry. As he glides fluidly towards George-Lenny, Michael opens his mouth wide._

_Holy water! Michael plans to take the fry meant for Seymour!_

_Badass salsa superhero! squeals Seymour at having his life spared._

_** Another** Michael Westen rescue made possible from Seymour's mind!_

_Seymour __will now affectionately title this latest rescue mission from Michael: "__Señor Michael's Last (Taco) Stand"___

____The End.____

___.___

Sanderson's voice interrupted Seymour's dream of a lifetime.

"Hello, boys," he sneered from behind them, "going somewhere?"

Michael had been dragging a drugged Seymour, attempting to escape when he was stopped in his tracks at the sound of Sanderson's voice. Michael gently let Seymour sit on one of the chairs as he stood and faced Sanderson.

In one hand Sanderson held a gun and in the other he held a detonation device that could blow up the entire warehouse. Sanderson grinned at Michael, daring him to try something. Although Sanderson was sneering on the outside, he was seething on the inside.

He would not let Westen get away this time, especially since things were all going his way again.

Anger. Guns. Explosives.

The danger trifecta.

Yet in the back of his mind, Sanderson could not help wondering how Westen even _knew_ where to locate Seymour. After all, Sanderson had been so careful. Maybe the f*cking Senator betrayed Sanderson.

Once Sanderson had taken care of Westen and the idiot, he plans to pay the b*astard Senator a little visit.

But what to do _now_? Sanderson internalized. He always prided himself on being one step ahead of his adversary. After all, hadn't he escape from Westen and his groupies at the nightclub?

So how will he show that he has control of the situation once again?

Ka-boom! Sanderson thought.

He should maybe blow up the building to smithereens. At least it would give him the satisfaction of knowing that Westen did not have the upper hand.

His finger edged closer to the detonation button.

"So boys, " Sanderson calmly asked, "how are we today? The weather's a little hot today, isn't it?"

"Of course it's hot! It's freaking Miami!" answered Seymour. He turned indignantly to Michael, as the drug started to wear off, "George-Lenny thinks he is _so_ smart about the weather! But he's no Norman Einstein, is he, Señor Michael?"

Michael and Sanderson looked at Seymour in puzzlement at the Spanish reference.

"Seymour," Sanderson growled, eyeing Seymour, "you're an moron!"

"Listen, Sanderson," announced Michael, "You've really messed up Seymour. All I want is to take him home."

"Messed up Seymour? How can you tell with someone like him?" Sanderson laughed at his own joke. He then displayed the remote.

"You know what I am showing you, right, Westen?"

"That you like to watch TV?" Michael replied, looking at the device that looked like a TV remote.

"Still a wiseass," replied Sanderson, this time not smiling, "Okay, I'll play along with you a little longer. This button right here sets off that little explosive up _there_. Very messy if I push it. Ka-boom!"

Michael looked up above the door and Sanderson could swear he saw surprise and fear in Westen's eyes.

"Explosives, eh?" Michael asked as Sanderson nodded.

Sanderson felt even better.

_Not making demands now, are we, Westen?_ Sanderson thought with satisfaction.

Then he had an afterthought. Could Westen be putting on a front? Could he be hatching some devious plan of his own? Sanderson gave Westen a second look.

Westen was still looking at the explosives above the door before his eyes traveled back to Sanderson's.

"You won't get away with this," warned Michael, although his tone didn't hold the same bluster as before, "My friends are just outside."

"Well, then," said Sanderson smoothly, "I guess I'll just have to blow up this place, your friends included."

Michael tried to judge his reaction, "You'd kill yourself, too."

Sanderson shrugged, "No big deal."

Sanderson could see Michael struggling with that thought and it made him feel powerful, knowing he still was in control of the situation.

"I have a proposition," began Michael.

Sanderson sneered as he held up the detonator again, "You are in no position to bargain."

"Let me put it this way," said Michael, "I know Senator Houston is the one who hired you. I also know what was on that video tape, which had nothing to do with you. You were just the hired help. If you will testify against him, I will talk to the DA and maybe he'll go easy on you. All I ask in exchange is that you let Seymour and me go."

Ah, now Westen is groveling.

To Michael's disappointment, Sanderson shook his head.

"No way, Westen," insisted a confident Sanderson, "Let ME tell you what is going to happen. I am going to walk out of here. You will do nothing and stay here for five minutes. Your friends will also do nothing. If you or your friends try and stop me, I will detonate the bomb. Once I am safe and well on my way, you will be free to go."

"Michael! …" Seymour insisted, "Don't listen to him, man! The more crap you hear from him, the more crap you'll have to put up with."

Michael nodded, but he looked unsure, "Seymour makes a good point."

"You going to listen to that dipstick?" questioned Sanderson.

"No need for insults," defended Michael, "I tend to agree with Seymour...can we trust you not to push the detonator button once you leave the premises?"

Sanderson gave his best sincere look, "I give you my word."

As he spoke, Sanderson's plans were crystallizing in his mind. As soon as he hit the streets, he would set off the explosives, killing Westen, that imbecile Seymour and hopefully Westen's friends, who would naturally try and rush in to save the two idiots.

Michael wasn't sure if he could trust Sanderson, but he knew that Sanderson was right when Sanderson said he had control of the situation. There was not much Michael could offer him.

"Let's hope you are true to your word," said Michael.

Sanderson nodded, "I will leave now. But before I do, I'll remind you that I have my finger resting on the detonator. If you try to play hero, I will push the button. If your friends plan on taking me out with a sniper, they better make sure I die instantly. Even so, I will make sure I move my finger to press down. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Michael nodded.

"Good, we are in agreement, then," said Sanderson. He started to turn.

"Oh, just one more thing…" Michael said to Sanderson's back. Sanderson let out an aggravated sigh. What now? Sanderson just wanted to do the damage and be done with it.

Westen better have something important to say.

Meanwhile, Michael had managed to pull the gun he had hidden in his pants, when Sanderson had turned around to leave. Michael now had the gun leveled on Sanderson.

Sanderson looked more annoyed than scared, "Don't you _get it_? Go ahead and fire. I'm not afraid to die. I'll just blow this f*cking place sky high."

"No you won't." Michael sounded so sure.

"And why not, Westen?"

It was the first time he saw a slow smile coming from Michael.

"Because, you messed up big time," Michael stated.

Now Sanderson was getting angry, "Messed up? Me? What the f*ck you talking about?"

"I had already disconnected the explosives before you got here." Michael said.

Sanderson couldn't help it. His mouth dropped open.

"It was a crude bomb, " Michael explained, "Simple too. Oh yes, you did not even equip it with a trip wire. Big mistake. I've made plenty of homemade bombs myself. Yours was a very simple one to disengage. Maybe next time read volume two of your _Bomb-making for Dummies_ book."

Sanderson darted his eyes over to the bomb over the doorway. He could see there was a chair next to the door, indicating that Westen could have stepped on the chair to reach the bomb.

"Oh Michael," said Seymour, clapping his hands, "I _knew_ there was a freaking reason why you were fiddling with the wires up there! Awesome, man, just awesome!"

But Sanderson was determined not to be fooled. This could after all, still be a trick.

"If that's so, Westen," tested Sanderson, "And everything is safe, then why haven't your friends busted in?"

He had Westen there.

"Thanks to your jamming equipment, I have had no communication with them, "said Michael, "plus it's best they don't burst in. Somebody could be randomly killed in the chaos."

"You're f*cking lyin."

Seymour perked up, "Push the freaking button then!"

Sanderson went from looking at Seymour to Michael. He could read no reaction from Michael.

"Go ahead, " encouraged Michael, "Push the button. And then after that, I'll just shoot you. _Push the button_."

"Yeah!" cheerleadered Seymour, "Push that baby! Then Michael will waste you!"

_God, how did all this go so wrong?_ Sanderson thought. His mind was grasping for some great idea, but it wasn't materializing.

"Okay," he decided, "I'll push the button."

Michael cocked his gun.

Sanderson's finger hovered over the button as he looked up at Michael.

Michael stood, waiting patiently.

His finger hovered. Why couldn't he pushed the button? Sanderson thought to himself, either way he's dead, right? Might as well take Westen and Seymour with him. His finger touched the button and then he stopped.

His body would also be blown to pieces.

The image did not appeal to him. And if Westen was right and the explosives have been defused, Sanderson would be immediately shot. Although he showed no mercy to others, Sanderson suddenly realized just how precious life was. At least his.

"If…" he proposed, warily, _"if _I surrender, you will talk to the DA, right?"

"You have my word," Michael said, repeating the phrase Sanderson had used earlier.

"Alright…" Sanderson said at last. He reluctantly held out the detonator and his gun as Michael took possession.

Michael's stoic expression did not change, "You've made the right choice by choosing to save your own life. "

Once Michael had the weapons in his hand, he went over and opened the window shade. Michael then came back and stood inches in front of Sanderson. No one moved.

Michael's powerful punch seemed to come from nowhere.

_BAM!_

Sanderson's head snapped back from the blow. He slid to the floor. Michael then knelt down and whispered in the defeated man's ear, his warm breath pricking Sanderson's ear and neck.

"That was for the fear and harm you caused my friends," Michael stated.

Seymour looked down at the fallen body and then back at Michael.

"_Jalapeno Awesomeness!_" he whispered to Michael admirably, as Michael wondered again what was up with the Spanish terms.

By now, Sam and Fi had burst in the room, followed by two police officers. The new arrivals looked down Sanderson, who laid sprawled out on the floor. They then turned their attention to Seymour, the victim.

"I saw the awesomeness," witnessed Seymour, with a burst of clarity, "it was self defense."

The officers cuffed Sanderson and dragged him to his feet out the door.

After Sanderson was led away, Sam and Fi noted how Michael gingerly held the detonator. That meant only one thing.

Sam shook his head.

"Mikey…" began Sam, as he pointed to what Michael was holding, "You're about to tell us that you are holding a working detonator, aren't you?"

Michael held the detonator slightly away from his body with both hands.

"Possibly, Sam... unless Sanderson built a fake one merely to scare us."

Fi boldly took the detonator from Michael's hands before he knew what had happened, "Michael, Sam...I propose that we get a safe distance away from this building and then test this little firecracker out," she suggested, with a bright smile.

.

.

.

A news conference would later be held.

Newspapers and television reporters form all over the globe were there to cover the arrest of Senator Bradley Houston on kidnapping charges as well as the arrest of Lenny Sanderson on the charge of killing Tommy Edwards.

In a separate story of weird coincidences, one of Senator Houston's warehouses mysteriously blew up minutes after the arrest of Sanderson. Due to lack of evidence, no further investigation would be forthcoming.

The District Attorney's office also had in their possession several secret recordings of conversations between the Senator and Sanderson. There was enough incriminating evidence without either one testifying against the other, although both were willing to do so.

The Chief of Police stepped up to the podium thanking everyone who worked on the case. He concluded with the fact that the arrests and subsequent charges and convictions were successful due to a 'team effort' of the police along with the cooperation of the DA's office.

Michael turned off the TV, satisfaction plastered on his face. In all the self congratulatory accolades the Chief of Police had made, there was no mention of Sam, Fi or him in connection to the case, which suited them perfectly.

Michael recalled how he had informed Sanderson that _maybe_ the DA would go easy on him.

But as it turns out, Michael was no attorney and he had no authority to promise Sanderson anything.

Too bad, so sad.

.

.

_Last chapter coming up!_

_(Special thanks to my dear friend Angie for the dream sequence)_

_The funniest thing I have read all week was from someone who PM'd me, kiddingly asking if I might be drinking as I write this story...had me ROLLING! (or, at least **I think** the person was kidding...He-ey! wait a minute...)_

_Please review._


	23. Chapter 23

Back home

Chapter 23

The beautiful ocean view, the white sands and lush tropical trees made the beach a perfect day for a wedding.

"Michael! Fi! Sam! Welcome!" Seymour merrily said, as Olivia beamed at Seymour the entire time.

Michael, Fi and Sam had just arrived in time for the ceremony. A warm breeze whipped through everyone's hair as Olivia stood before Seymour. She wore a loose flowy white dress with a circle of flowers atop her head. Seymour also, had on his usual white pants, white tee and white summery long sleeve shirt, his unruly hair now tied back in a neat ponytail.

They both looked so happy.

The three new arrivals greeted the soon-to-be O'Less's.

Michael wished them a bright future.

Fi told them they were meant for each other.

And Sam reminded Seymour to look at _Olivia_ when he made his vows.

An extra, unknown man, wearing an orange/saffron robe, stood next to them. They assumed he would be the one to perform the ceremony.

"Come meet the Guru who will perform the ceremony!" insisted Seymour, "This is Guru official Swami Kahn Daments."

"_Really?"_ asked Sam, "Your name is Kahn Daments ?"

"Is there a problem?" the Swami asked Sam, blinking quickly.

"Uh, no…no..." replied Sam, "of course not…and my name is Ken U. Diggit, he's Gus Unheit, and she's Claire Anette."

"_Sam!_" Michael and Fi both said.

Seymour made the real introductions of Sam and Fi. He then patted Michael on the shoulder as he proudly announced, "And this awesome guy is my best man, Michael Westen!"

The Swami smiled.

"Ah, Michael Westen! The best man!"

"For today/forever," said Michael/Seymour in unison.

The wedding began.

Swami Daments began by saying that today was a day of love, that today they were celebrating a lifetime of commitment. Sam mistakenly thought Swami said a lifetime of condiment. Michael stood next to Seymour, while Fi became Olivia's maid of honor.

"This ceremony," the Swami began, as he lifted his arms, "takes place before the energy of the Universe. Today the cosmos will help commit the couple to the center of each other's hearts, the temple of love."

After a few more words, Seymour and Olivia were asked to communicate vows from their heart.

Olivia went first.

"Seymour, this wedding ring I exchange freely with you," said Olivia, as they exchanged rings made of beautiful abalone shells, " previously, I believed a ring meant something different to me...it was like a tourniquet that cut off the circulation of my ring finger...but that was...before I met you."

She looked lovingly in his eyes.

Now it was Seymour's turn.

"Wow, to be compared to a compression bandage is awesomely romantic! " Seymour was saying, " and now that it is my turn, I've decided to write my vow in Haiku!"

Michael's eyes widened.

"My one regret, " continued Seymour, "was that I had always felt my soulmate, my true love, would know Haiku. But my search has been in vain. Luckily, I have learned to love you, my dear, Livvy."

Michael couldn't help but clear his throat.

Fi leaned over, "_Michael? Are you okay?_" she whispered concernedly.

He pointed to his throat as he whispered back, "..._so emotional...I'm choked up._.."

As Fi gave Michael a questioning look, Seymour had already begun:

Two fluttering hearts

Sunlight gleams on seashell bands

Making a tan mark

Fi was actually moved by the sweet serenity of the ceremony amidst their surroundings. The salty air, the cool ocean breeze, the glistening waters...Her heart was filled with joy for Olivia, who looked radiant.

The exchange of rings were complete.

As Fi looked over to Michael, she found his intense gaze lovingly on her.

The Swami invited Michael, Sam and Fi to join hands and form a circle around the couple with him. As Fi wordlessly held out her hand to Michael, he took it in a solid grasp.

_"My beautiful Fi," _Michael whispered the words in his head, as he stared into her eyes_, "I promise to give you my whole self, body and soul…to take care of you…to respect and honor you…and most of all to love you until the day I die…"_

Even though Fi did not hear the words, she read all his feelings through the look in his eyes.

"Two souls united with a single thought…" ended the Swami.

Literally, everyone thought.

Seymour and Olivia kissed.

Seymour took Olivia's hand as they smiled at each other while the three guests and the Swami clapped.

The world welcomed the new Mr. and Mrs. Seymour O'less.

Then the Swami performed an energy cleanse for the couple.

Seymour giggled.

.

.

(Two days later.)

Springtime in Miami is a time to stop and smell the gardenias. A lovely season to sightsee the art deco buildings in the city, stroll on the pristine beaches, or hobnob in the trendy nightclubs.

Fi was softly humming to herself as she walked up the stairs to Michael and hers loft. Another mission completed and it really did feel nice to go back to normalcy.

Living together, grocery shopping, dusting, humming...She couldn't believe she was feeling so domesticated…but there it was. No enemies to shoot, no victims to save, and most of all, no Seymour, who claimed a day without sunshine is called night.

She was carrying a bag of groceries, as she used her other hand to insert the key and open the door.

Loft sweet loft.

"Mi-_chael!_" Fi yelled, "I'm back!"

She looked all around for his presence. She tried listening to his footsteps. Nothing. The loft was eerily silent. She was all alone in the room. Strange, she had noticed his car was just parked outside. Could Sam have picked him up to go somewhere? Why hadn't he mentioned anything?

She got out her cell phone and dialed Michael's cell phone. His cell phone rang on the counter. Michael was definitely not out. He would never leave his cell phone at the loft.

"Mi-_chael_!" She yelled again.

BUBBA-RUMBA-BUBBA-RUMBA

Some rumbling noises could be heard up above her on the roof. She tilted her head up and looked up at the ceiling, scowling because she couldn't identify the sounds.

Cautiously she put her bag of groceries down on the counter

Her ears picked up footsteps moving outside in the back of the loft. From underneath the slot of the sliding door, she could see a shadow, telling her that whoever was out there was now right outside the back door.

Where was Michael in all of this?

As a measure of safety, Fi silently opened her pocketbook and retrieved her Beretta. With one hand, she pointed the weapon towards the back door of the loft, ready to shoot anyone or anything that looked unfriendly.

The back door of the loft suddenly slid opened.

WHAM!

At first Fi squinted because she was blinded by the sunlight and the shadowed outline against the doorway. Once her eyes became adjusted, recognition set in and she uncocked her gun as her hand fell to her side. She'd know that familiar silhouette anywhere.

It was Michael.

But the strange thing was, he merely had a large white towel wrapped around his waist. His chest was gleaming and his hair was slightly mussed. He hadn't seen her yet and had actually been whistling. Upon noticing her, he stopped in mid-whistle.

"_Mi-chael_!" she had a stunned look, "What is _up_ with you?"

His face registered surprise as he spoke.

"Fi…uh…I-I thought you were going grocery shopping and then out to lunch with a friend."

She was looking at him up and down as she responded.

"My girlfriend cancelled lunch for another day, so I just came back from the store…but that's neither here or there…what are you doing dressed like _that_ in the middle of the day?"

She tilted her head, total puzzlement read on her face. Michael glanced down as if he had not known he was merely wearing a towel.

"Dressed like what?" he asked innocently

"What do you mean dressed like what? Do you always wear a skirted bath towel in the middle of the day?"

Michael lifted his head with pride, "I've never realized you were so picky about my wardrobe choices, Fi."

Fi rolled her eyes.

"Michael, stop playing! I want an explanation!" she insisted, "And in case you plan to continue with an asinine answer, let me be explicit regarding my question—_what were you doing outside, wearing only a towel_—"

She stopped when she saw out of the corner of her eyes, movement behind him.

Seymour, stood behind Michael, with only a white towel wrapped around _his_waist.

Fi quickly turned away. Too late, her mind had registered Seymour's hairy chest and it made her almost want to pull her eyes out of her socket.

But Seymour's reaction to her was the opposite, as his whole face lit up upon seeing her.

"Fiona! Fiona! Good of you to be here!" Seymour looked pleased. "Awesome surprise, isn't it? It's me and Michael! And who says dreams do not come true?"

Fi turned to Michael with a straight face, "I'm moving out. Today. _Now_."

"No, no, Fi! Wait!"

""What. The. Hell. Michael?" Fi's voice was insistent, "because…of…this…_thing._..that happened... I will have nightmares for the _first time_ in my life!"

"Hey, speaking of nightmares," stated Seymour, "This just came to me! I wonder if porn stars have nightmares about waking _up_ fully clothed! What do you two think?"

Both Fi and Michael chose to ignore the remark, Fi giving Michael a challenging look.

"Now, Fi, I can explain _all_ of this," said Michael, although there was no conviction in his voice.

"No, Michael...there is no explanation in the _univers_e that can _ever_ explain _this_…" said Fi pointing her finger at one man, then the other, "_EVER_…"

And then she saw out of the corner of her eye, movement behind Seymour.

Sam appeared out of nowhere with a white towel around _his_ waist. When he saw Fi's surprised reaction, he grinned and even stepped _closer_ to her.

Fi closed her eyes, wishing she had a towel to use as a blindfold for her brain. She took a step backwards.

"Hey Fi! " said Sam, casually as he puffed out his chest, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

Fi worked hard to recover. "Alright, fair enough, Sam… then I'll hate you for your personality."

"Well, gee, Fi, " responded Sam, "Could it be that you are grumpy because you want a towel, too? I can get you one...let's see...hmmm...with your height and weight, a _hand towel_ might do…"

Fi looked back at Michael.

"Michael! Do you see what has happened due to this..this..._lunacy?_... you've made it _easy_ for Sam to jest me..."

She was beyond stunned and upset.

"Fi, this must look strange to you…" said Michael, as he watched Fi shaking her head side to side.

"I just can't deal with…" began Fi and stopped.

And then—oh god!—she saw from the corner of her eyes some movement _again._

Jack Ash was behind Sam wearing only a white towel around _his_ waist.

He stared at Fiona without blinking.

Sam grinned, "Come on up, Buddy, stand in line with us!"

Fi tried to take in the entire situation.

She looked up and down the line of bare chested men, of various heights, weights and hair density, all wrapped with towels at their waists.

"Anyone else coming?" She asked sarcastically, "Shall…I…wait for the entire _towel brigade_ to arrive? Will the next set of men be wearing matching_ kitchen towels, _for instance?"

"Wow! Awesome idea, but we're it, Fiona!" summed up Seymour.

Fi peered at the four of them, trying to get used to the idea.

"You four look like a police line up if they were trying to identify the elusive Fluffy Towel Serial Killer, " stated Fi.

"Oh! That would be so awesome!" exclaimed Seymour, "To be on the other side of the law!"

"You ARE on the other side of the law, buddy!" pointed out Sam.

"Not if it's a triangle," inserted Seymour.

"Are we done here?" asked Jack Ash, impatiently, "I'm getting cold standing here."

"O-_kay_," Fi said it as if she were trying to convince herself, "Just to remind you, Michael,...when someone annoys me, it takes 42 facial muscles for me to make a frown, but it only takes 4 of my muscles to extend my arm and smack you, right?"

"I got it, Fi…there is a very simple explanation….

"A simple explanation? No Michael, oh _nooooo_" she stated emphatically, "Don't give me the simple explanation. Give me the long, complex explanation. In fact, I want the entire _maze_ of explanation…"

.

.

Later, Michael was able to explain to Fiona that as a way of thanks, Seymour had built on top of the their loft, a custom-made enclosed hot tub room adjoined with a mini steam room.

At first Fi could not let go of her feeling until she lounged in the steam room and melted into the clouds of steam. She felt all stress from the last few days drifting away.

Next Michael showed her their new hot tub.

The state-of-the-art hot tub accommodated up to four, so she and Michael were able to toally stretch out in comfort. Fi loved the therapy seats within the tub, which also featured wrap-around arm rests, lumbar support and individual pillow headrests. Deep blue water surrounded her with 108 jets, bubblers and wave-massage action.

It felt like heaven.

And in heaven, all is forgiven.

.

.

By nightfall, as Fi was in the shower, Michael was once again at the counter of the loft, trying to get some late night reading done on some files Pearce had sent over. Although it was tedious work, he was glad to be back to the normalcy of work.

He heard the bathroom door open and his smile was a mile long as Fi entered. Sometimes he felt as if his entire existence had become centered oh her. The time they spent apart had become unbearably slow.

"Michael," she came in smiling, "I thought you were done with work for tonight."

She was now standing in front of him. She wore a pale green nightgown with a low cut laced back. His eyes traveled down the length of her gown and then he looked at her long wildly chaotic mass of hair, so much like the person who possessed it. Finally his gaze lingered at her mouth for a long moment.

"_What,_ Michael?" she teased, knowing exactly what he had in mind.

"Your mouth," Michael noted, "it's well suited for what I have in mind."

"For talking?" she half-joked.

Michael got off the bar seat and moved closer to her. His eyes contained glints of fire. A flush of warmth came over her throat and cheeks, "Michael I…"

Michael had already clasped her against his body and his nearness caused gooseflesh to rise all over her body and an excited quiver ran through her. Gently he pulled her closer.

"It's taken forever for me to admit it, but I have always felt it, " he said softly as he looked in her eyes, "it's just this, Fi…I love you."

The words that Fi had been waiting to hear since she first saw him sent her swaying slightly against him.

"Michael, I can't believe…"

"Fi, hear me out, I need to say the rest, "said Michael, obviously rehearsing these words in his mind, "I've wanted you from the first time I set eyes on you in Dublin. And every damn day that I left you in Ireland, I have regretted it. I want no more regrets. You need to know how I feel...I love you, Fiona."

Hot tears tipped over her lashes as Fi responded, "Michael, I love you, too."

Michael kissed her, his mouth hot and demanding, hungrily feeding off the warmth and taste of her. The heat of his kiss was delicious as his hands continued to caress her body and…

…and then he suddenly stopped He jerked back and stared at her incredulously.

"Michael?" she questioned.

She could practically see the surprised thought going through his mind.

"I would have never thought of it…from _you_…" he stated, a stunned look on his face, "And after my declaration to you?"

She knew exactly what he was referring to.

The line of her mouth formed a small 'o' as she sounded slightly desperate, "I know what you're thinking, Michael, but I had no way of knowing that this would be the night you would say you loved me."

He shook his head back and forth.

"I just never thought…" Michael was in a daze.

"Michael! Don't think of that! Just look at me! _Look into my eyes_!"

I-I didn't know... " he seemed to have been totally caught off guard, "that they made _mango-flavored_ mouthwash…"

"I was just trying to help Seymour out, "explained Fi quickly, "he was trying to expand his business, and well, we owe it to him…"

"So, " said Michael, "we are going to have a discussion about Seymour _now_?"

"Why not?" asked Fi asserting her power, "I can talk about him anytime I want and there's nothing you can to about it!"

"Then we have a problem, Fi."

Michael smiled that kind of smile that made her melt. Without invitation, he suddenly lifted her up, intent on carrying her to their bed.

"Michael!" Fi pretended to be indignant, "Put me down! You cannot just carry me away anytime you feel like it! We can't solve all problems by just going to bed!"

"You're right, Fi," he said, "But I can make us both feel a hell of a lot better about the problem."

He laid her gently in their simple unmade bed and joined her in the heaps of snowy bed sheets. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck while his mouth covered hers gently. Both their bodies arched towards the other as a current of pleasure hummed through the two of them.

And then there was no more talk of Seymour.

.

.

The End!

_(Note to Preeti: there's your Michael/Fi time together!)_

_Thank you, thank you for having a wonderful sense of humor about this story. It was pure joy to write this and I hoped I was able to make you smile at least once._

_My next story will be called "No Hidden Fi". The plot is already in my head, and I am excited about getting started writing it. However, for now, I will be writing at another FF site. Hopefully I will have something for you in about 2 or 3 months!_

_Thanks especially for all the reviewers who kept me motivated. Your responses have been overwhelming and I cannot express the gratitude I feel._

_Thankfully we are not like Seymour, but perhaps we can learn to be as enthusiastic as him when it comes to our outlook on life!_

_Please review_


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